Class. 
Book. 




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PRESENTED BY 



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POETICAL WORKS 



ov 



ROBERT BURNS; 

WITH HIS LIFE, 

A CRITIQUE, GLOSSARY, &C. 



TWO VOLS. IN ONE. 




LONDON : 




OjBb, 193, ma ^Kgs : 



1834. 



%^A 






JOSEPH SMITH, PRINTER, 193, HIGH HOLBORK. 



-t- 



1 



CONTENTS 



THE FIRST VOLUME, 



PAGE. 

Life of Burns ... ... ... ... 1 

Critique od his Writings 62 

Glossary ... 71 

Preface to the First Edition 99 

Dedication to the Second Edition 103 






POEMS, CHIEFLY SCOTTISH, IN FIVE BOOKS, 



BOOK I. 
MORAL, RELIGIOUS, AND PRECEPTIVE. 



The Twa Dogs 107 

The Brigs of Ayr , H6 

The Vision 124 

The Cotter's Saturday Night 135 

Verses written in FriarVCarse Hermitage 

on Nith-side ... ••• ... ... 142 

Jr.' a 2 



4 Ct3isi£rr» 3. 

PAGE* 
A. Prayer under the Pressure 01 violent An- 
guish 144 

A Prayer in the Prospect of Death 145 

Stanzas on the same Occasion 146 

Verses left by the Author, at a reverend 
Friend's House, is the Room where lie 

slept 147 

A Grace before Dinv^r •*» ** ... ... ...148 

The First Psalm ... 149 

The First Six Verses of the Ninetieth Psalm 150 
Epistle to a young Friecd . ... 151 



BOOK II. 

PATHETIL, LEGIAC, AND DE&CRIP. 
TIVE. 

Man was made to Mourn... * 155 

A Winter Night 159 

Wi r ter ... 162 

Despondency ... «„. «.* ... .*. ... ... 163 

To Ruin , 166 

Lament of Mary, Queen of Scots, on the ap- 
proach of Spring ... „. 167 

The Lament, occasioned by the unfortunate 

issue of a Friend's Amour 169 

Lament of a Mother for the Death of her Son 172 

Lament for James, Earl of Glencairn ... ... 173 

Lines sent to Sir John Whitefoord, of White- 

foord, Bart, with the foregoing Poem.. ±76 



CONTENTS. 5 

PAGE 

Mrathallan's Lament ...... ••• •• «*• ~. 177 

The Chevalier's Lament ... ••• 178 

The Author's Farewell to his native Country 179 

Farewell to Ayrshire 181 

The Farewell to the Brethren of St. James's 

Lodge, Tarbolton •*. — ••• ••• .- 182 

Farewell to Eliza 183 

Highland Mary 184 

To Mary in Heaven 185 

Elegy on the late Miss Burnet, of Monboddo 187 
Verses en reading, in a Newspaper, tltc 
Death of John M'Cleod, Esq. brother to 
a young Lady, a particular friend of the 

Author's 188 

Sonnet on the Death of Robert Riddel, Esq. 

of Glen Riddel, April, 1794 189 

Verses on the Death of Sir James Hunter Blair 190 
Addiess to the Shade of Thomson, on crown- 
ing his Bust, at Ednam, Roxburghshire, 

with Bays 192 

Epitaph for the Author's Father * ...193 

for R. A. Esq , ...194 

on a Friend ... .. ... 194 

A Bard's Epitaph 195 

Verses on the Birth of a posthumous Child, 
born in peculiar circumstances of family 

Distress .... ... 196 

On Sensibility « 197 

Verses on seeing a wounded Hare limp by 

me, which a Fellow had ju t shot at 198 

lines on scaring some Water-fowl in Loch 
Turit, a wild Scene among the Hills of 
Oughtertyre 199 



6 CONTENfS. 

PAGE, 
Sonnet, written on the 25th of January, 1786, 
the Birth-day of the Author, on hearing 

a Thrush in a morning walk .. 201 

To a Mouse, on turning her up in her Nest, 

with the Plough, November, 1785 202 

To a Mountain Daisy, on turning one down 

with the Plough, April, 1786 204 

The humble Petition of BruarWater 206 

Lines, written with a PenciL over the Chim- 
ney-piece in the Parlour of the Inn at 

Kenmore, Taymouth • .*• 209 

Lines written, with a Pencil, standing by the 
Fall of Fyers, near Lock-Ness ... ..•211 



BOOK III. 
FAMILIAR AND EPISTOLARY. 

To Miss L , with Beattie's Poems as a 

New-year's gift, January 1, 1787 ... ••• 212 

To Miss Cruickshanks, a very young Lady, 
written on the blank Leaf of a Book 
presented to her by the Author ... ... 213 

Verses on a young Lady 214 

- to a young Lady, with a present of 

Songs 215 

■ presented to a lady whom he had 
often celebrated under the name of 
Chloris •• •• • 216 



CONTENTS. / 

PAGE, 

Lines presented to au old Sweetheart, then 

married ■ ••• 217 

To a young Lady, Miss Jessy L , Dum 

fries ; with Books which the Bard pre- 
sented her .. ... ... .» •• — 218 

To J. S — 219 

Epistle to Davie, a brother Poet ... 225 

To the Same 231 

Epistle to J. Lapraik 233 

To tl»e Same ~ 233 

To a Gentleman whom the Author had of- 
fended .~ ... 276 

To W. S"*"o 242 

Epistle to J. R******, enclosing some Poems... 249 

To Dr. Blacklock 252 

To Colonel de Peyster 254 

To Mr. Mitchell, Collector of Excise 256 

Letter to J — s T— t Gl-nc r 258 

To the Guidwife of Wauchope-honse, in an* 
swer to an Epistle which she had sent 

the Author.. 260 

To J. Ranken, on his writing to the Author 

that a Girl was with Child by him... ... 263 

Address to an illegitimate Child ... 263 

To a Tailor, in answer to an Epistle which 

he had sent the Author • 265 

To Mr. William T> tier ^ ...268 

Epistle to R. Graham, Esq. of Fintra 269 

To the Same ^ ... 272 

To the Same, on receiving a Favour 275 

To a Gentleman whom the Author had of 
fended ... ... ... *~ • ••• 276 



8 CCNTENT*. ' 

To a Gentleman who had sent him a Newspa- 
per, and offered to continue it free of 
Expense ... ... ... 276 

Sketch, to Mrs. Dunlop, on New- Year's Day 278 

The auld Farmer's New- Year Morning Salu- 
tation to his auld Mare, Maggie • 280 

The Death and dying Words of poor Mallie, 
the Author's ODty pet Yowe ••• #. ••• 284 



LIFE 

OF 



ROBERT BURNS, 



WITH 

An Original Critique *n h'u Works. 



The contemplation of superior excellence h 
perhaps the most impressive, as well as interest- 
ing subject of meditation, in which the human 
mind can be engaged. For it is not possible to 
reflect on exalted virtue, without feeling our own 
nature improved, or upon extensive acquirements 
without being inspired with some degree of emu* 
latum. But when superior genius is added to 
t]je perfections of which our nature is susceptible 
A 



2 LIFE OF BURNS. 

the character of the individual is raised to a high* 
er standard of excellence, and while our admira- 
tion is increased, we consider the mind so gifted 
as belonging to a superior species of beings, in 
whom are qualities quite beyond our power of 
attainment ; and, dazzled by the lustre by which 
they are surrounded, we look up to them as from 
a humbler sphere, wifh a kind of mysterious vene- 
ration. In the mind of Burns these powers were 
not so happily blended as to excite that admira- 
tion or regard for his moral character which 
has been paid to his genius, but to dwell on 
the errors of a man who is now no more, is 
not only cowardly but cruel. In relating those 
incidents of his life which justice forbids to be 
concealed, respect for the memory of departed 
genius will prevent us from dwelling invidiously 
en those errors ; his original genius, and acute per- 
ception of character and manners, have been rare- 
ly equalled, and his high powers of imagination, 
not only display, but have preserved from oblivion, 
the peculiar manners of his country. The repu- 
tation of the poet has extended itself beyond his 
native country, and wherever his works have pene- 
trated, they have been received with the admira- 
tion due to unparalleled genius. 



LIFE OF BURWS. 3 

Th| life of a peasant cannot be expected to 
*uinish very copious materials for biography. 
But when did the world produce such a peasant 
ts Robert Burns? Born in a humble station of 
*fe, lie raised himself by the exertions of his mind 
to the highest pitch of inf^llectual greatness ; and 
amidst bitter waters of indigence and sorrow, of 
drudgery and negleet, he produced those beauti- 
ful idylliums which will never be read without 
an expansion of the understanding and of the 
heart. The character of such a person should 
only be sought for in his own works— in those 
works which have not only rendered his fame 
immortal, but have endeared his name to every 
reader of taste and feeling. 

The following details of Burns's Life, from a 
very early period of his personal history, down to 
the year 1787, are too interesting not to form the 
first feature in this Memoir. It was communicated 
by Burns himself, in a Letter addressed to the 
justly celebrated Dr. Moore, Author of "Zeluco," 
• Edward," &c. and the father of the late unfor- 
' tnate Sir John Moore, who fell in the battle of 
orunna, during the Peninsular war. 



A 2 



« 



4 LIFE OF BURNS. 

" Mauchliue, August 2d, 1?87. 
Sir, 

" Fop some months past I have been 
rambling over the country ; but I am now eonfine-d 
with some lingering complaints, originating, as I 
take it, in the stomach. To divert my spirits a 
little in this miserable fog of ennui, I have taken a 
whim to give you a history of myself. My name 
has made some little noise in this country ; yon 
have done me the honour to interest yourself very 
warmly in my behalf; and I think a faithful ac- 
count of what character of a man I am, and how 
I came by that character, may perhaps amuse you 
in an idle moment. I will give you an honest 
narrative ; though I know it will be often at my 
own expense ; for I assure yon, Sir, I have, like 
Solomon, whose character, excepting in the 
trifling affair of wisdom, I sometimes think I 
resemble, — I have, I say, like him, turned my eyes 
to behold madness and folly, and, like him, too fre- 
quently shaken hands with their intoxicating 
friendship.*** After you have perused these page? 
should you think them trifling and impertinent, I 
only beg leave to tell you, that the poor author 
wrote them under some twitching qualms of con- 
science, arising from suspicion that he was doing 



LIFE OF BURNS. 5 

what he ought not to do : a predicament he has 
more than once been in before. 

w I have not the most distant pretensions to as- 
sume that character which the pye-eoated guar- 
dians of escutcheons call a Gentleman. When at 
Edinburgh, last winter, I got acquainted in the 
Herald's Office ; and, looking through the granary 
of honours, I there found almost every name in 
the kingdom ; but for me, 

,...■...-., ■«■ . ii it. My ancient but ignoble blood 
Has crept tbro' scoundrels ever since the flood. 

Gules, Purpure, Argent, &c. quite disowned me. 

" My father was of the north of Scotland, the 
££>n of a farmer, who rented lands of the noble 
Keiths of Marischal, and had the honour of shar- 
ing their fate. I do not use the word honour 
nilh any reference to political principles : loyal 
jnd disloyal, I take to be merely relative terms, 
in that ancient and formidable court, known in 
this country by the name of Club-law, where, the 
right is always with the strongest. But those 
who dare welcome ruin, and shake hands with 
infamy, for what they sincerely believe to be the 
cause of their God, or their king, are, as Mark 



6 LIFE OF BURNS. 

Antony says in Shakspeare of Brutus and C ( ssins, 
honourable men. I mention this circumstance, 
because it threw my father on the world at large* 

" After many years' wanderings and sojourn* 
ings, he picked up a pretty large quantity of ob- 
servation and experience, to which I am indebted 
for most of my little pretensious to wisdom. I have 
met with few who understood me?i, their manners^ 
end their ways, equal to him ; but stubborn un- 
gainly integrity, and: headlong, ungovernable 
irascibility, are disqualifying circumstances ; con- 
sequently I was born a very poor man's son. For 
the first six or seven years of my life, my father 
was gardener to a worthy gentleman of small es- 
tate in the neighbourhood of Ayr. Had he con- 
tinued in that station, I must have marched oft to 
be one of the little underlings about a farm-house 5 
but it was his dearest wish and prayer to have it 
in his power to keep his children under his own 
eye till they could discern between good and evil : 
so, with the assistance of his generous master, my 
father ventured on a small farm on his estate. At 
those years I was by no means a favourite with 
any body. I was a good deal noted for a reten- 
tive memory, a sturdy something in my disposi- 
tion, and an enthusiastic idiot piety. I say idiot 



LIFE OF BURNS, 7 

piety, because I Was then but a child. Though it 
cost the schoolmaster some thrashings, I made an 
excellent English scholar : and by the time I was 
ten or eleven years of age, I was a critic in sub- 
stantives, verbs, aud particles. In my infant and 
boyish days, too, I owed much to an old woman 
who resided in the family : remarkable for her 
ignorance, credulity, and superstition. She had, 
I suppose, the largest collection in the country of 
tales and songs concerning devils, fairies, brow- 
nies, witches, warlocks, spunkies, kelpies, elf- 
candles, dead-lights, wraiths, apparitions, can- 
traips, giants, enchanted towers, dragons, and 
other trumpery. This not only cultivated the la- 
tent seeds of poetry ; but had so strong an effect 
on my imagination, that to this hour, in my noctur- 
nal rambles, I sometimes keep a sharp look out in 
suspicious places : and though nobody can be more 
sceptical than I am in such matters, yet it often 
takes an effort of philosophy to shake off these 
idle terrors. The earliest composition that I re- 
collect taking pleasure in, was * The Vision of 
Mirza,' and a hymn of Addison's, beginning, c How 
are thy servants blest, O Lord !' I particularly 
remember one half stanza, which was music to my 
boyish ears. 

For though on dreadful whirl? we hung 
High oo the broken wave. 



8 LIFE OF BURNS. 

I met with these pieces in Mason's English Col- 
lection, one of my school-books. The two first 
books I ever read in private, and which gave me 
more pleasure than any two books I ever read 
since, were the Life of Hannibal, and The His* 
tory of Sir William Wallace. Hannibal gave my 
young ideas such a turn, that I used to strut in 
raptures up and down after the recruiting drum 
°nd bag-pipe, and wish myself tall enough to be a 
soldier; while the story of Wallace poured a Scot- 
tish prejudice into my veins, which will boil along 
there till the flood-gates of life shut in eternal rest. 

* Polemical divinity about this time was putting 
the country half mad; and I, ambitious of shining 
in conversation parties on Sundays, between 
sermons, at funerals, &c. used, a few years after- 
wards, to puzzle Calvinism with so much heat 
and indiscretion, that I raised a hue and cry ©f 
heresy against me, which has not ceased to this 
hour. 

** My vicinity to Ayr was of some advantage to 
mc My social disposition, when not checked by 
some modifications of spirited pride, was, like ouf 
catechism definition of infinitude, c without bounds 
or limits.' I formed several connexions with other 



LIFE OF BURNS, U 

younkers who possessed superior advantages, the 
youngling actors, who were busy in the rehearsal 
of parts in which they Were shortly to appear on 
the stage of life, where, alas ! I was destined to 
drudge behind the scenes. It is not commonly at 
this green age that our gentry have a just sense 
of the immense distance between them and their 
ragged play-fellows. It takes a few dashes into 
the world, to give the young great man that pro- 
per, decent, unnoticiug disregard for the poor, 
insignificant, stupid devils, the mechanics and 
peasantry around him, who were perhaps born in 
-the same village. My young superiors never 
insulted the clouterly appearance of my plough- 
boy carcass, the two extremes of which were 
often exposed to all the inclemencies of all the 
seasons. They would give me stray volumes of 
books : among them, even then, I could pick up 
tome observation ; and one, whose heart I am 
Burejpiot even the Murjny Begum scenes have taint- 
ed/helped me to a little French. Parting with 
these my young friends and benefactors, as they 
occasionally went off for the East or West Indies, 
was often to me a sore affliction ; but I was soon 
called to more serious evils. My father's gene- 
rous master died - y the farm proved a ruinous 
bargain ; and, to clench the misfortune, we fell 



10 LIFE OF BURNS. 

into the hands of a factor, who sat for th« 
picture I have drawn of one in my tale of Twa 
Dogs. My father was advanced in life when 
he married ; I was the eldest of seven children ; 
^nd he, worn out by early hardships, was unfit 
for labour. My father's spirit was soon irri- 
tated, but not easrly broken. There was a freedom 
in his lease in two years more ; and, to weather 
these two years, we retrenched our expenses. 
We lived very poorly : I was a dexterous plough- 
man for my age ; and the next eldest to me was a 
brother (Gilbert) who could drive the plough very 
well, and help me to thrash the corn. A novel 
writer might perhaps have viewed these scenes 
with some satisfaction ; but so did not I : my in- 
dignation yet boils at the recollection of the s— 1 
factor's insolent threatening letters, which used to 
set us all in tears. 

ci This kind of life—the cheerless gloom of a 
Permit, with the uneeasing moil of a galley-slave, 
brought me to my sixteenth year ; a little before 
which period I first committed the sin of Rhyme. 
You know our country custom of coupling a man 
and woman together as partners in the labours of ] 
harvest. In my fifteenth autumn my partner was 
a bewitching creature a year younger than my. j 



LIFE OFdURN'S. 11 

self 3Iy scarcity of "English denies me the power 
of cfoing her justice in that language; but you 
know the Scottish idiom— she was a bonie, sweety 
smsie lass. In short, she altogether, unwittingly 
to herself, initiated me in that delicious passion, 
which, in spite of acid disappointment, gin-horse 
prudence, and book-worm philosophy, I hold to 
be the first of human joys, our dearest blessing 
here below ! How she caught the contagion I 
cannot tell : you medical people talk much of 
infection from breathing the same air, the touch, 
&c. ; but I never expressly said I loved her. In- 
deed I did not know myself why I liked so much 
to loiter behind with her, when returning in the 
evening from our labours ; why the tones of her 
voice made my heart-strings thrill like an /Eolian 
harp ; and particularly why my pulse beat such a 
furious ratan when I looked and fingered over her 
little hand to pick out the cruel nettle-stings and 
thistles. Among her other love-inspiring quali- 
ties* she sung sweetly ; and it was her favourite 
reel to which I attempted giving an embodied 
vehicle in rhyme. I was not so presumptuous as to 
imagine that I could make verses like printed 
ones, composed by men who had Greek and La- 
tin ; but my girl sung a song, which was said to 
be composed by a small country laird's son, on one 



i2 LIFE OF BURNS. 

of his father's maids, with whom he was in love ! 
and I saw no reason why I might not rhyme as 
well as he ; for, excepting that he could smear 
sheep, and cast peats, his father living in the 
moorlands, he had no more scholarcraft than my* 
self. 

" Thus with me began love and poetry ; which 
at times have been my only, and till within the 
last twelve months, have been my highest enjoy* 
ment. My father struggled on till he reached the 
freedom in his lease, when he entered on a larger 
farm, about ten miles farther in the country. The 
nature of the bargain he made was such as to 
throw a little ready money into his hands at the 
commencement of his lease ; otherwise the affair 
would have been impracticable. For four years 
we lived comfortably here ; but a difference com- 
mencing between him and his landlord as to terms, 
ifter three years tossing and whirling in the vortex 
of litigation, my father was just saved from the hor. 
rors of a jail by a consumption, which, after two 
years' promises, kindly stepped in, and carried him 
tway, to * where the wicked cease from troubling, 
nnd the weary are at rest,' 

i* It is during the time th.<t wc lived on this farm 



LIFE OF BURNS, 13 

that my little story is most eventful. I was, at the 
beginning of this period, perhaps the most un- 
gainly, awkward boy in the parish*— no tolitcare 
was less acquainted with the ways of the world. 
What I knew of ancient story was gathered 
from Salmon's and Guthrie's geographical gram- 
mars ; and the ideas I had formed of modern 
manners, of literature, and criticism, I got from 
the Spectator. These, with Pope's Works, some 
plays of Shakspeare, Tull and Dickson on Agri- 
culture, the Pantheon, Locke's Essay on the Hu- 
man Understanding, Stackhouse's History of the 
Bible, Justice's British Gardener's Directory. 
Bayle's Lectures, Allan Ramsay's Works, Taylor's 
Scripture Doctrine of Original Sin, A select Col- 
lection of English Songs, and Hervey's Medita- 
tions, had formed the whole of my reading. The 
collection of songs was my vademecum. I pored over 
them, driving my cart, or walking to labour, song 
by song, verse by verse ; carefully noting the true 
tender, or sublime, from affectation and fustian, 
I am convinced I owe to this practice much of my 
critic-craft, such as it is. 

tl In my seventeenth year, to give my manners 
ft brush, I went to a country dancing-school.— My 



14 LIFE OF BURNS, 

father had an unaccountable antipathy against 
these meetings ; and my going was, what to this 
moment I repent, in opposition to his wishes. My 
father, as I said before, was subject to strong pas* 
sions ; ftom that instance of disobedience in me 
he took a sort of dislike to me, which I believe 
was one cause of the dissipation which marked 
my succeeding years.— I say dissipation, compa- 
ratively with the strictness, and sobriety, and re- 
gularity of Presbyterian country life ; for though 
the Will o' Wisp meteors of thoughtless whim 
were almost the sole lights of my path, yet early 
ingrained piety and virtue kept me for several 
years afterwards within the line of innocence. 
The great misfortune of my life was to want an 
aim. I had felt early some stirrings of ambition, but 
they were the blind gropings of Homer's Cyclops 
round the walls of his cave. I saw my father's 
situation entailed upon me perpetual labour. The l 
only two openings by which I could enter the 
temple of Fortune, was the gate of niggardly 
economy, or the path of little chicaning bargain- 
making. The first is so contracted an aperture, I 
never could squeeze myself into it :— the last I 
always hated— there was contamination in the 
very entrance ! Thus abandoned to aim or view 
in life, with a strong appetite for sociability, as 



LIFE OF BURNS. 15 

well from native hilarity, as from a pride of 
observation and remark ; a constitutional melan- 
choly, or hypochondriasis that made me fly to 
solitude ; add to these incentives to social life, my 
reputation for bookish knowledge, a certain wild 
logical talent, and a strength of thought some- 
thing like the rudiments of good sense; and it will 
not seem surprising that I was generally a welcome 
guest where I visited, or any great wonder that 
always where two or three met together, there was 
I among them, 

" But far beyond all other impulses of my 
heart was un penchant d. l f adorable moitU de genrt 
htmain. My heart was completely tinder, and 
was eternally lighted up by some goddess or other; 
and, as in every other warfare in this world, my 
fortune was various ; sometimes I was received 
with favour, and sometimes I was mortified with 
a repulse. At the plough, scythe, or reap-hook, I 
feared no competitor, and thus I set absolute want 
at defiance ; and as I never cared farther for my 
labours than while I was in actual exercise, I 
spent the evening in the way after my own heart. 
A country lad seldom carries on a love adventure 
without an assisting confidant. I possessed curi- 
osity, zeal, and intrepid dexterity, that recom- 



16 LIFE O? BURNS. 

mended me as a proper second on these occasions : 
and I dare say I felt as much pleasure in being 
in the. secret of half the loves of the parish of 1 1 
Tarbolton, as ever did statesman in knowing the 
intrigues of half the courts of Europe. The very 
goose-feather in my band seems to know instinc- 
tively the well-worn path of my imagination, the 
favorite t erne of my song ; and is with difficulty 
restrained from giving you a couple of paragraphs 
on the love-adventures of my compeers, the 
humble inmates of the farm-house and cottage ; 
but the grave sons of science, ambition, or avarice, 
baptize these things by the name of follies. To 
the sons and daughters of labour and poverty 
they are matters of the most serious nature ; to 
them the ardent hope, the stolen interview, the 
tender farewell, are the greatest and most delici- 
ous parts of their enjoyments. 

" Another circumstance in my life which made 
•orae alteration in my mind and manners, was, 
that I spent my nineteenth summer on a smug- ! 
gling coast, a good distance from home, at a noted 
school, to learn mensuration, surveying, dialling, 
kc. in which I made pretty good progress. But 
I made a greater progress in the knowledge of 
mankind. The contraband trade was at that 



LIFE OF BURNS. 1/ 

time ve»*y successful, and it sometimes happened to 
me to fall in with those who carried it on. Scenes 
of swaggering riot and roaring dissipation were till 
this time new to me ; but I was no enemy to 
social life. Here, though I learnt to till my glass, 
and to mix without fear in a drunken squabble 
yet I went on with a high hand with my geometry, 
till the sun entered Virgo, a month which is al- 
ways a carnival in my bosom, when a charming 
fillette, who lived next door to e school, overset 
my trigonometry, and set me off at a tangent 
from the sphere of my studies. I, however, strug- 
gled on with my sines and co-sines for a few days 
more ; but, stepping into the garden one charm- 
ing noon to take the sun's altitude, there I met 
my angej, 

Like Proserpine, gathering flowers, 
Herself a fairer flcwer.— — 

It was in vain to think of doing any more good at 
school. The remaining week I staid, I did nothing 
but craze the faculties of my soul about her, or 
•teal out to meet her ; and the two last nights of 
my stay in the country, had sleep been a mortal 
sin, the image of this modest and innocent girl 
had kept me guiltless. 

? I returned nome very considerably improved 
B 



1 8 J LIFE OF BURNS. 

kly reading was enlarged with the very important 
addition of Thomson's and Shenstone's works ; I 
Lad seen human nature in a new pha>is ; and I 
engaged several of my schoolfellows to keep up a 
literary correspondence with me. This improved 
me in composition. I had met with a Collection of 
I etters by the Wits of Queen Anne's reign, and I 
!>ored over them most devoutly ' I kept copies of 
tny of my own letters that pleased me ; and i 
omparison between them and the compositions of 
most of my correspondents, flattered my vanity. 
I carried this whim so far, that though I had not 
three farthings' worth of business in the world, 
yet almost every post brought me as many letters 
as if I had been a broad plodding son of day-book 
and ledger. 

u My life flowed on much in the same course 
till my twenty-third year. Vive V amour 9 ct viv< 
la bagatelle, were my sole principles of action 
The addition of two more authors to my librar 
gave me grea- pleasure : Sterne and M'Rtnzie- 
Tristram Shandy and the Man t£ Feeling wer 
my bosom favourites. Poesy was still a darling 
walk for my mind ; but it f?as only indulged ii 
according to the humour of the hour. I hac 
usually half a dozen or more pieces on hand 



LIFE OF BURNS. 19 

took up one or other, as it suited the momentary 
tone of the mind, and dismissed the work a.s it 
bordered on fatigue. My passions, when once 
lighted up, raged like so many devils, till they got 
vent in rhyme ; and then the conning over my 
verses, like a spell, soothed all into quiet! None of" 
the rhymes of those days are in print, except Win- 
ter, a dirge, the eldest of my printed pieces ; the 
Death of poor Mallie ; John Barleycorn ; and 
«ongs first, second, and third. Song second was 
iie ebullition of that passion which euded the 
fore-mentioned school-business. 

* My twenty-third year was to me an important 
fcra. Partly through whim, and partly that I 
wished to set about doing something in life, I join- 
ed a flax-dresser in a neighbouring town (Irwine) 
to learn his trade. This was an unlucky affair. 
My •*• ; and, to finish the whole, as we were giving 
a welcome carousal to the new year, the shop took 
fire, and burnt to ashes ; and I was left, like a 
true poet, not worth a sixpence. 

• " I was obliged to give up this scheme ; the 
:k>uds of misfortune were gathering thick round 
ny father's head ; and what was worst of all, he 

; *as visibly far gone in a consumption ; and^ to 



20 JJFE OF BURNS. 

crown my distresses, a belle fiile, whom I adored, 
and who hud pledged her soul to meet me in the 
field of matrimony, jilted me, with peculiar cir- 
cumstances of mortification. The rlnishiug evil 
that brought up the rear of this infernal file, wa§ 
tay constitutional melancholy, being increased to 
such a degree, that for three months I was in a 
state of mind scarcely to be envied by the hope- 
less wretches who have got their mittimus — ' De- 
part from me, ye accursed.' 

u From this adventure I learned something of 
a town life ; but the principal thing which gave 
my mind a turn, was a friendship I formed with a 
young fellow, a very noble character, but a hap- 
less son of misfortune. He was the son of a simple 
mechanic ; but a great man in the neighbourhood 
taking him under his patronage, gave him a gen- 
teel education, with a view of bettering his situ- 
ation in life. The patron dying just as he was 
ready to launch out into the world, the poor fellow, 
in despair, went to sea ; where, after a variety of 
good and ill fortune, a little before I was ac- 
quainted with him, he had been set on shore by 
an American privateer, on the wild coast of Con- 
naught, stripped of every thing. I cannot quit 
this poor fellow's story without adding, that he is 



LIFE OF BURNS. 21 

at this time master of a large WesMndiaman be 
longing to the Thames. 

44 His mind was fraught with independence, 
magnanimity, and every manly virtue. I loved 
and admired him to a degree of enthusiasm, and 
of course strove to imitate him. In some measure 
I succeeded ; I had pride before, but he taugh* it 
to flow in proper channels. His knowledge of 
the world was vastly superior to mine, and I was 
all attention to learn. He was the only man I 
ever saw who was a greater fool than myself, 
where woman was the presiding star ; but he 
: spoke of illicit love with the levity of a sailor, 
, which hitherto I had regarded with horror. Here 
bis friendship did me a mischief ; and the conse- 
quence was, that soon after I resumed the plough, 
, I wrote The Poet's Welcome*. My reading only 
, increasedyWhileinthistownjby two stray volumes 
i of Pamela, and one of Ferdinand Count Fathom, 
which gave me some idea of novels. Rhyme, 
\ except some religious pieces that are in print, I 
.had giveu up; but meeting with Fergusson's 
Scottish Poems, I strung anew my wildly-sound- 



• Aftenrards entitled, *• Rob tbe RJH-mer»s Welcome to his Bastart 



22 LIFE OF BURNS. 

ing lyre with emulating vigour. When my fatheff 
died, his all went among the hell-hounds that 
prowl in the kennel of justice ; but we made a 
shift to collect a little money in the family amongst 
us, with which, to keep us together, my brother 
and I took a neighbouring farm. My brotfotf 
wanted my hair-brained imagination, as well as 
my social and amorous madness 5 but in good 
sense, and every sober qualification, lie was Car 
my superior. 

*• I entered on this farm with a fiill resolution, 
s Come, go to, I will be wise !' I read farming 
books ; I calculated crops ; I attended markets ; 
and, in short, in spite of ' the devil, and the 
world, and the flesh,' I believe I should have been 
a wise man ; but the first year, from unfortunately 
buying bad seed, the second, from a late harvest, 
we lost half our crops. This overset all my 
wisdom, and I returned, l like the dog to his 
vomit, and the sow that was washed, to her wal- 
lowing in the mire/ 

u I no w began to be known in the neighbourhood 
as a maker of rhymes. The first of my poetic off- 
spring that saw the light, was a burlesque lamen- 
tation on a quarrel between two reverend Calviij- 



LIFE OF BURNS. 23 

jsts, both of them dramatis persona in my Holy 
Fair. I had a notion myself that the piece had 
some merit ; but to prevent the worst, I gave a 
copy of it to a friend who was very fond of suck 
things, and told him that T could not guess wb ■•■ 
was the auther of it, but that I thought it pretty 
clever. With a certain description of the clergy, 
as well as laity, it met with a roar of applause. 
Holy Willie's Prayer next made its appearance, 
and alarmed the kirk-session sc much, that they 
held several meetings to look over their spiritual 
artilleiy, if happily any of it might be pointed 
against profane rhymers. Unluckily for me, my 
wanderings led me, on another side, within point 
blank shot of their heaviest metal. This is the 
unfortunate story that gave rise to my printed 
poem, The Lament. This was a most melancholy 
affair, which I cannot yet bear to reflect on, and 
had very nearly given me one or two of the prin* 
cipal qualifications for a place among those who 
have lost the chart, and mistaken the reckoning 
of Rationality. I gave up my part of the farm 
to my brother ; in truth it was only nominally 
mine ; and made what little preparation was in 
my power for Jamaica. But, before leaving my 
native country for ever, I resolved to publish my 
pccms. I weighed my productions as impartially 



24 LIFE OF BURNS. 

as was in my power : I thought they had merit : 
and it was a delicious idea, that I should be caiied 
a clever fellow, even though it should never reach 
my ears — a poor negro-driver; or perhaps a vic- 
tim to that inhospitable clime, and gone to tiie 
world of spirits ! I can truly say, that paurre w- 
€•»** as I then was, I had pretty nearly as high 
an idea of myself and of my works as I have at 
this moment, when the public has decided in tneir 
favour. Ic ever was my opinion, that the mis- 
takes and blunders, both in rational and religions 
point of view, of which we see thousands daily 
guflty, are owing to their ignorance of themselves. 
—To know myself, had been all along my con- 
stant study. I weighed myself alone ; I balanced 
myself with others ; I watched every means of* 
information, to see how much ground I occupied 
as a man a id as a poet ; I studied assiduously 
.Nature's des^pn in my formatior — where the 
Rights and she n.« ,t> my character weie intended 
I was pretty confident my poems would meet 
with some applause ; but, at the worst, the roar 
ef the Atlantic would deafen the voice of censure, 
and the novelty of West Indian scenes made me 
forget neglect. * threw off six hundred copies, 
of which I had got subscriptions for about three 
hundred and fifty.— My vanity was highly grati 



LIVE OF BURNS, 25 

fled by the reception I met with from the public ; 
and besides, I pocketed, all expenses deducted* 
nearly twenty pounds. This sum came very sea- 
sonably, as T was thinking of indenting myself 
for want of money, to procure my passage. As 
soon as I was master of nine guineas, the price 
of wafting me to the torrid zone, I took a steerage- 
passage in the first ship that was to sail from the 
Clyde j for 

Hungry ruin had me in the wind. 

" I had been for some days sculking from co« 
vert to covert, under all the terrors of a jail ; as 
some ill-advised people had uncoupled the merci- 
less pack of the law at my heels. I had taken 
the last farewell of my few friends ; my chest was 
on the road to Greenock; I had composed the 
last song I should ever measure in Caledonia— 
The gloomy night is gathering fast — when a letter 
from Dr. Blacklock to a friend of mine, over- 
threw all my schemes, by opening new prospects 
to my poetic ambition. The doctor belonged to a 
set of critics for whose applause I had not dared 
to hope. His opinion, that I would meet with 
encouiagement in Edinburgh, for a second edi- 
tion, fired me so much, that away I posted tor 



26 LIFE OF 25t?RNS, 

that city, without a single acquaintance, or & 
single letter of introduction. The baneful star 
that had so long shed its blasting influence in my 
zenith, for once made a revolution to the nadir ; 
and a kind Providence placed me under the pa- 
tronage of one of the noblest of men, the Earl of 
Glencairn. Oublie mot, Grand Dieu, si jamais je 
Voublie ! 

" I need relate no farther. At Edinburgh I 
was in a new world ; I mingled among many 
classes of men, but all of tbem new to me, and 
I was all attention to 6 catch ' the characters 
and * the manners living as they rise/ -Whether 
I have profited, time will shew." 

In the foregoing narrative, written in Baste, and 
never intended to meet the public eye, it may be 
supposed that some few inaccuracies occur, and 
some parts that require explanation. Indepen- 
dent of these circumstances, it is no more than a 
bare outline of hislife,and, in the absence of some- 
thing better, might have given satisfaction to 
readers in general : but by the admirers of this 
great genius more is required. And we feel happy 
that we can gratify the public, from authentic 
of those minutiae of the poet's life, 



LIFE OF BURNS. 2/ 

which, from whatever cause, he chose to leave 
unnoticed. 



On the 25th &C January, 1759, Robert Burns 
was born, in a small house aboat two miles from 
Ayr, and within a short distance of Alloway 
church, which the poem of Tarn o* Shanter has 
rendered immortal. His father was a native of 
Kincardineshire. Reduced circumstances having 
compelled him to leave his birth-place, he went 
to Edinburgh, and after some short stay in the 
metropolis, settled, as a gardener, in the service 
of the laird of Fairly, and afterwards in that of 
Crawford of Doonside, in the county of Ayr, in 
which situation he was when our poet was born. 
The original name of this family was Burnes, or 
Burness ; why it was changed to Burns does not 
appear : certainly not, as has been illiberally 
and unjustly suspected, of his having any partici- 
pation in the rebellion of 1745 ; although Robert 
has inadvertently mentioned in his narrative that 
his ancestors shared the fate of the Keiths of Ma- 
rischal. The fact is, that the Earl Marischal for- 
feited bis title in 1715, many years before William 
Burnes was born. It is not improbable, however, 
that this belief on the part of the son, gave that 
biasto his political principles which he cherished to 



28 LIFE OF BURNS. 

his death, and which the ardent attachment, th« 
heroicvalour, and the final misfortunes of the adhe- 
rents to Prince Charles's cause, tended to confirm. 

In 1757 William married Agnes Brown, the mo* 
ther of the poet. Robert, at the age of six years, 
was sent to a school at Alloway Miln, then taught 
by a person of the name of Campbell, who was, in 
a short time, succeeded by a John Murdoch,- under 
whom he acquired reading, and a knowledge of 
grammar. His love for reading early displayed 
itself, and the first book he ever perused, his 
school-books excepted, was the " Life of Hanni- 
bal/' With this gentleman he continued two years ; 
during the last fortuight the preceptor himself 
took lessons in the French language, and he com- 
municated the instructions he received to young 
Burns, who, when he returned home, brought with 
him a French dictionary and grammar, and a T£« 
l£maque, and, by the assistance of these books be, 
in a short time, acquired a sufficient knowledge of 
the French language to read and understand any 
French author in prose. This circumstance was 
the means of introducing him to the notice of 
some families, particularly that of Dr. Malcolm, 
where a knowledge of that language was a recom- 
mendation. Robert afterwards tried the Latin, 



LIFE OF BURNS. 29 

but this study he considered dry and uninteresting, 
and therefore soon laid it aside. 



About the year 1766, the elder Burns took a 
farm of Mr. Ferguson,his then employer, and such 
was its retired situation, that they seldom saw any 
but the members of their own family. In this 
retirement the father spent his leisure hours in 
such conversation with his sons as might tend to 
increase the knowledge of his children, or confirm 
them in virtuous habits. In order to make them 
acquainted with the history and situation of the 
different countries of the globe, he borrowed Sal- 
mon's Geography ; and procured from a book 
society in Ayr, Durham's Physico and Astro-The- 
ology, and Ray's Wisdom of God in the Creation, 
to give them an idea of natural history and as- 
tronomy. From Stackhouse's History of the Bible 
he gained a knowledge of ancient history ; for no 
volume was too voluminous or antiquated to slack 
his industry, or allay his thirst for acquirement. 
A relation, who went to Ayr, to purchase the Gen- 
tleman's New and Complete Letter- Writer, brought 
by mistake a collection of Letters written by the 
most eminent writers. This volume was to Burns 
a treasure : it inspired him with a strong desire to 
excel in his epistolary correspondence, and fur- 



30 LIFE OF BURNS. 

mshed him with correct models by some of the 
most eminent writers in the English1an«ita|pe. Of 
his success in this department, his letter affords 
ample proof. 

When Burns was about fourteen years of age, 
his father sent hira to the parish school of Dal- 
rymple, to improve himself in writing. At this 
time he increased his knowledge of books by the 
perusal of two odd volumes of Pamela, (the first 
novel he ever read) and the samenumber of volumes 
of Count Fathom and Peregrine Pickle. With 
the writings of Hume and Robertson he was as 
yet unacquainted, and with almost all modern 
authors of eminence. About this time his friend 
and tutor, Murdoch, returned to Ayr, a circum- 
stance of great consequence to the poet. To 
his friendship he was indebted for a set of Pope's 
works, and some other poetry. He was again sent 
to Murdoch to improve himself ; where he remain* 
ed only a week, the harvest interfering, and he 
returned to his father to assist him in getting it in. 
He went back to school when it was over, where 
he continued a fortnight, and this, with the excep- 
tion of a quarter some time after, when he at- 
tended the parish school of Kirk-Oswald to learn 






LIFE OF BURNS. 31 

surveying, completes the account of Burns* school 
education. 

The farm, which William Burns had taken, he 
found was not adequate to the support of his 
family. The soil was remarkably poor, and by 
bad crops, and losses among his cattle, he came 
into great difficulties. To remedy these misfor- 
tunes the family underwent great privations, they 
lived sparingly for a very long period ; butcher's 
meat was not seen in the house ; and the whole 
family exerted themselves to the utmost in the 
labour of the farm. Robert, at the age of thir- 
teen, assisted in thrashing the corn, and at fifteen 
was the principal labourer en the farm. The dis- 
tresses of his father, then upwards of fifty years 
of age, with a large family, and broken down with 
the fatigues of a long and laborious life, could 
not but touch the heart of his son, and it b 
thought that the sorrow and hard labour of this 
period of his life caused, in a great measure, that 
depression of spirits with which he was so fre- 
quently afflicted through his whole life. At this 
time he was subject to a dull head-ache, which, at 
a subsequent period of his life, gave way to a pal- 
pitation of the heart, and a sense of fainting and 
tuffocatiow la his bed. * 

William Burns, after ineffectually struggling 



32 LIFE OF BURNS. 

with his difficulties, removed to the farm of 
Lochlea, in the parish of Tarbolton, which lie 
possessed only seven years. No writings having 
been drawn out of the conditions of the lease, a 
misunderstanding took place ; the subjects in dis- 
pute were submitted to arbitration, and the deci- 
sion involved him in ruin : he lived to know the 
unfortunate result, but not to see any execution 
in consequence. He died on the 13th of Feb- 
ruary, 1784. 

From the time of Burns' residence in Tarbolton 
(occupying from his seventeenth to his twenty- 
fourth year), the foundation was laid of certain 
habits in his character, which afterwards became 
but too prominent, which envy and calumny have 
delighted to dwell on. When young he was remark- 
ably bashful in the society of females, but when 
he approached manhood, his attachment to their 
society became very strong, and he was constantly 
the victim of some fair enslaver. In these con- 
nexions, which continued till his twenty-third 
year, he never deviated from the strictest rnles of 
decorum and modesty. He then became anxious 
to be in a situation to marry, but the stocking of 
a farm requiring a sum of money which he had 
no probability of being master of for along time, 



LIFE OF BURNS. 33 

he, therefore, began to think of trying some 
other line. With a view, therefore, to his fina\ 
settlement in life, he wrought at the flax-dressing 
business in Irwine, for six months, but it neither 
agreeing with his health or inclination, he aban- 
doned it. 

At the decline of his father's affairs, in conjunc- 
tion with his brother, he took the farm of Moss- 
gitl. as an asylum for his family, in case of the 
worst; and during the time they occupied it, a 
period of four years, the wages which Robert re- 
ceived for his services were no more than seven 
pounds per annum, which sum his expenses never 
exceeded. If proof were necessary, this alone 
would be sufficient to establish the fact, that, till 
the twenty-third year of his age, the habits of Ro- 
bert Burns were of the most sober and moral de- 
scription. It is the malignancy of envy alone 
which delights in defaming the character of a 
man of whose genius it is envious. 

The farm which the family had taken at Mos* 
giel did not fulfil their expectations, and they in 
consequence gave it up. It was during the occu- 
pation of this farm that Burns formed his con- 
nexion with Jean Armour, his future wife- This 
C 



34 L1FK OF BURNS. 

connexion continued till it could be no longer Con- 
cealed, and Burns, though in a most unsettled 
state, was anxious to shield the partner of his im- 
prudence by every means in his power. It was, 
therefore, agreed between them, that they sbonld 
make a legal acknowledgement of an irregular 
and private marriage ; that he should go to 
Jamaica to push his fortune, and that she should 
remain with her father till he had the means of 
supporting a family. 

Tins project did not please the father of Jean 
Armour, with whom she was a great favourite. 
On the discovery of her situation he fainted away. 
The marriage did not appear in his opinion to 
make the matter better ; a husband in Jamaica 
appeared to him to be little better than none, 
and an effectual bar to any other settlement in 
life that his daughter might have a prospect of. 
He, therefore, desired that the writteu documents 
respecting the marriage should be destroyed, and 
thus the marriage be rendered void. This wish was 
mentioned to Burns, who felt inconceivable anguish 
at the proposal. He offered to stop at home and 
provide for his wife and family in the best manner 
that his daily labour would enable him. Even this 
her parents did not approve of, and Burns, after 



LIFE OF BURNS 35 

repeated solicitations, consented to their wishes ; 
but his feelings were of the most distracting nature, 
nor was tiiis impression of sorrow effaced till, by 
a subsequent regular marriage, they were indis- 
solubly united.* In the state of rnind which this 
Separation produced he wished to leave the coun- 
try, and agreed with a Doctor Douglas, who had 
an estate in Jamaica, to go out as an overseer. The 
vessel not being ready to sail, Burns was advised 
to publish his poems by subscription, in order to 
provide him more liberally in necessaries for his 
voyage. The reception which they met with in 
the world, and the friends they procured him, 
caused him to change his resolution of going 
to Jamaica, and he was advised to proceed to 
Edinburgh to publish a second edition. On his 
return, in happier circumstances, he renewed his 
connexion with Mrs. Burns and rendered it per- 
manent by marriage. 

The information which our poet received at 
school was limited and scanty ; yet the acquisi- 



• In his narrative the poet mentions his " sculking about from 
onrert to covert, under the terror of a jail." The M pack of the law* 
vert " uncoupled at his heels " to oblige him to find security for the 
maintenance of his twin children, whom he was not allowed to legltl- 
■att by a marriage with their mother. 
C S 



36 LIFE OF BURNS. 

tion which he made, and the poetical talent which 
he exerted under a youth of incessant labour, 
testify the extraordinary vigour of his mind : in 
the toils of the farm he exceeded all competitors, 
But while his body was thus employed, his mind 
was solacing itself in the recollections of past 
times and the heroic deeds of his countrymen. 
While the grass fell beneath the sweep of his 
scythe he was humming the ancient airs of his 
native land ; or, wrapped in the illusions of Fancy, 
as her enchantments rose to his view, ponder- 
ing on those gleams of imagination which have 
since gratified the world. Cn the Sabbath, he 
could indulge himself in a free intercourse with 
the charms of nature. By the banks of the Ayr 
it was his delight to wander alone at the close 
of the summer's day. But his pleasure was greater, 
as he himself informs us, in walking on the shel- 
tered side of a wood, in a cloudy winter day, 
and hearing the storm rave among the trees ; 
and more elevated still his delight to ascend an 
eminence, where, 

■■ Placed o» higb tbove the storm's career,* 

he might survey the agitations of nature ; stride 
along its summit, while the hghtmng flashed around 



LIFE OF BURNS. 37 

him, and amidst the howling of the tempest, apos- 
trophize 



M The genie* of t&* coming storm ! ,r 

In one of these wanderings he met among the 
woods a celebrated beauty of the west of Scot- 
land. The evening sun was flaming, though de- 
scending among the western hills ; not a breath 
disturbed the silence of the scene — it was a created 
moment for a poetic heart, and this incident gave 
rise to the poem of the " Lonely lass of Balloch- 
myle." This vicinity formed the scene of passions 
ef a still tenderer nature : w Highland Mary " is 
known to relate to one of these attachments. 
The object of this passion died early in life, and 
left an impression on the mind of Burns which 
seems to have been lasting. " It was written,'' 
says the bard, " on one of the most interesting 
passions of my youthful days." Some years after 
he gave vent to the sensibility of his feelings in 
those exquisitely empassioned lines " To Mary 
in Heaven. * 

The energy of Burns' mind was not exhausted 
by his daily labours, or his solitary meditations. 
Previous to his engagement as a flax-dresser. 



3S LIFE OF BURNS. 

having heard that a debating club had been esta- 
blished in Ayr, he resolved to try how such a 
meeting would succeed in the village of Tarbolton. 
About the close of the year 1780, our poet, his 
brother, and five other young peasants of the 
neighbourhood, formed themselves into a society 
of this kind, the objects of which were to promote 
sociality and friendship, and to improve the mind. 
This club continued to meet for some years after 
Burns removed from Ayrshire ; but no longer sus- 
tained by his talents, or cemented by his social 
affection, its meetings lost much of their attrac- 
tion, and in an evil hour dissension arising among 
its members, the club was broken up, and the 
records committed to the flames. 

When the family of the bard removed from 
Tarbolton to Mauchline, he was requested to assist 
in forming a similar institution there. The regu- 
lations were the same as those of the club at Tar- 
bolton, with the exception of one, vu. The fines 
for non-attendance at Tarbolton were expended 
in liquor : at Mauchline it was agreed that the 
money so arising should be set apart for the pur- 
chase of books, and the first work procured in this 
manner was the periodical work of the Mirror, 
then publishing in weekly papers. A variety of 



LIFE OF BURNS. 39 

cither works followed, and among them the Loun- 
ger. The society of Manchline appeared in the 
list of subscribers to the first edition of the works 
of its celebrated associate. 

Whether in the humble societies of which Burns 
was amemberhe acquired much direct information 
may perhaps be questioned. It cannot, however, be 
doubted, that by collision the faculties of his mind 
were excited, and his habits of enunciation esta- 
blished by practice : and thus we have some expla- 
nation of that early command of words and expres- 
sion, which enabled him to pour forth his thoughts 
in energetic and appropriate language. For lite- 
rary associations our poet had a great relish, and 
happy had it been for him, if fortune, when lie 
emerged from the condition of a peasant, had 
permitted him to enjoy them in the degree of 
which he was capable, and given to the energies 
of his mind habits of exertion that might have 
excluded other associations, in which it must be 
acknowledged they were too often debased. 

p We have been more particular in our account 
of the early part of Burns' life, because it is the 
least known, and this part of his history is con* 
nected with some views of the manners of the 






4U LIFE OF BURNS. 

humblest ranks of society, hitherto hot little 
observed, and which are neither useless nor unin- 
teresting. 

About the time he meditated leaving his native 
country, he commenced a correspondence, from 
which the chief incidents of the remaining part of 
his life are deduced. 

Burns commenced his journey to Edinburgh in 
the month of November, 1786, furnished with an 
introductory letter to Dr. Blacklock. He was ac- 
quainted with Professor Stewart, and had been in- 
troduced to the Earl of Glencairn, and therefore 
not without friends who could introduce him either 
into the circles of literature or fashion ; and hisown 
manner and appearance exceeding the expecta- 
tions that had Lcen formed of him, he became an 
object of general curiosity and admiration. The 
celebrated Mr. Mackenzie, the author of the 
" Man of Feeling," in the 97th number of the 
Lounger, introduced extracts from several of 
his principal poems, with every tribute of praise 
the most sanguine author could desire. He be- 
came an acceptable guest in the gayest and high- 
est circles, and received from female beauty 
those attentions aDove aJI others most dear to him. 



LIFE OF 2IURN-S. 4! 

His reception among the literati was no less flat* 
tering ; and in the circle 01 fashion he was also 
much distinguished. On the motion of the iat- 
Earl of Glencairn, the Caledonian Hunt, an as- 
semblage of the first nobility and gentry of the 
country, patronized our bard, and admitted him 
to their gay orgies. He repaid their notice by a 
dedication of the enlarged and improved edition 
of his poems, in which he has celebrated their 
patriotism and independence in the most animated 
and independent terms. 

Edinburgh at this period contained many men 
of considerable talents, who were not the most 
conspicuous for temperance and regularity. Burns 
entered into several parties of this description 
with the usual vehemence of his character. His 
generous affection, and brilliant imagination, 
fitted him to be the idol of such associations ; but 
by indulging himself in these festive recreations, 
he gradually lost a great portion of his relish for 
the purer pleasures to be found in the circles of 
taste, elegance, and literature. He had exchang- 
ed the humble fare of an Ayrshire peasant for the 
luxuries of the Scottish metropolis, and this al- 
teration acted upon him both morally and physi- 
cally. But his understanding yet suffered no cor* 



42 LIFE OF BURNS. 

responding debasement. He saw bis danger, and 
at times formed resolutions to guard against it: 
but he had embarked on the tide of dissipation, 
and was borne along its stream. 

Of the state of his mind at this time an authen- 
tic document remains, in a book which he procured 
for the purpose of recording in it whatever seem- 
ed worthy of observation. The following extracts 
may serve as a specimen. 

" There are few of the sore evils under the sun/' 
he observes, l< give me more uneasiness and cha- 
grin than the comparison how a man of geuius, 
nay, of avowed worth, is received every where, 
with the reception which a mere ordinary cha- 
racter, decorated with the trappings and futile 
distinctions of fortune, meets. I imagine a man 
of abilities, his breast glowing with honest pride, 
conscious that men are borne qual, still giving ' ho- 
nour to whom honour is due y he meets at a great 
man's table, a 'squire something, or a sir some- 
body ; he knows the noble landlord, at heart, gives 
the Bard, or whatever he is, a share of his good 
wishes, beyond, perhaps, any one at table ; yet 
how will it mortify him to see a fellow, whose 
abilities would scarcely have made an eightpenny 






LIFE OF BURNS. 

tailor, and whose heart is not worth thre« 
tilings, meet with attention and notice, that 
withheld from the son of genius and poverty 

" The noble Glencairn has wounded me to* 
soul here, because I dearly esteem, respect, 
love him. He shewed so much attention- 
grossing attention — one day, to the only block- 
head at table (the whole company consisted of his 
lordship, dunderpate, and myself), that I was 
within half a point of throwing down my gage of 
contemptuous defiance ; but he shook my hand, 
and looked so benevolently good at parting. God 
bless him ! though T should never see him more, 
I shall love him until my dying day ! I am pleased 
to think I am so capable of the throes of grati- 
tude, as I am miserably deficient in some other 
virtues. 

M With Dr. Blair I am more at my ease. I 
never respect him with humble veneration ; but 
when he kindly interests himself in my welfare 
or still more, when he descends from his pinnacle 
and meets me on equal ground in conversation, 
my heart overflows with what is called liking. 
When he neglects me for the mere carcase of 
gieatness, or when his eye measures the difference 



44 LIFE OF BURNS. 

of our points of elevation, I say to myself, with 
scarcely any emotion, what do I care for him or 
his pomp either ? 

" It is not easy forming an exact judgment of 
any one ; but in my opinion, Dr. Blair is merely 
an astonishing proof of what industry and appli- 
cation can do. Natural parts like his are fre- 
quently to be met with ; his vanity is proverbially 
known among his acquaintance ; but he is justly 
at the head of what may be called fine writing ; 
and a critic of the first, the very first, rank in 
prose ; even in poetry, a bard of Nature's malr- 
ing can only take the pas of him. He lias a heart, 
not of the very finest water, but far from being 
an ordinary one. In short, he is truly a worthy 
and most respectable character." 

The respect and sympathy of Burns dwelt with 
keener emotion and more intense interest on the 
fate of Fergusson than on the intercourse which he 
held with persons of distinction. On the sixth of 
February, 1787, he addressed a letter to the bai- 
lies of the Canongate, Edinburgh, requesting per- 
mission to erect a monument to his memory. 
" Gentlemen," said he, ** I am sorry to be told, 
that the remains of Robert Fergusson, the so justly 



LIFE OF BURNS, 45 

celebrated poet, a man whose talents, for ages to 
come, will do honour to our Caledonian name, 
He in your church-yard, among the ignoble dead, 
unnoticed and unknown. Some memorial to di- 
rect the steps of the lovers of Scottish Song, 
when they wish to shed a tear over the ' narrow 
house' of the Bard who is no more, is surely a tri- 
bute due to Fergusson's memory — a tribute I wish 
to have the honour of paying. I petition you then^ 
gentlemen, to permit me to lay a simple stone 
over his revered ashes, to remain an unalienable 
property to his deathless fame.* 

Burns, in consequence of this application, ob- 
tained leave to gratify his desire*. The inscription 
on the stone is as follows : 



* A correspondent of Burns, in alluding to this transaction, expresses 
himself in this manner: ** So you have obtained liberty from the ma- 
gistrates to erect a stone over Fergossoa»s grave f 2 do not doubt it ; such 
things have beeE,asShakspea« say?, ' la the olden time j' 

• The poet's fate is here in emblem shown, 
He ask'd for bread, and he reeciv'd a stone.' 

ft i*,l believe, upon poor ButlerH tomb that this is written. But how 
many brothers of Parnassus, as well as poor Butler and poor Fergus- 
son, have asked for bread, and been served with the same cauie V* 



46 LIFE OF BURNS., 

HERE LIES ROBERT FERGUSSON, POET. 
Bora September 5th, 1 75 1.— Died 3 6th October, 1 774. 

No sculptured marble here, nor pompous lay. 

No ** storied urn nor animated bust i n 
Thi» simple stone direct ipale Scoti3's way 

To pour her sorrows o'c her Poet's dust. 

On the other side of the stone is as follows : 

** By special grant of the managers to Robert Burns, who erected 
this stone, this burial pltce is to remain for ever sacred-to the memory 
cf Robert Fergusson.** 

Shortly after paying this tribute of respect to the 
ashes of a kindred genius, he acquired a sum of 
money more than sufficient for his present wants. 
He therefore determined to gratify a desire he had 
long entertained of visiting some of the most in- 
teresting districts of his native country. For this 
purpose he left Edinburgh on the 6th of May, 
1787, on a tour through a country so much 
Celebrated in the rural songs of Scotland. In 
this journey he visited Mr. Brydone the traveller, 
the Rev. Dr. Sommerville, the historian, and other 
respectable characters. The fame of the poet 
had travelled before him, and he was received 
every where with the most flattering marks of 
esteem and hospitality. At Jedburgh he remain- 
ed several days, and was honoured by the ma- 
gistrates with the freedom of the borough. 



LIFE OF BURNS. 47 

He spent three weeks in exploring the delight- 
ful scenery in that part of the country, and theo 
crossed over into Northumberland, where he 
visited Alnwick Castle, the Hermitage, and the 
old Castle of Warkworth, Morpeth, and New- 
castle : he thence proceeded to Carlisle, and at 
length returned to Mosgiel, in Ayrshire, where he 
arrived about the 8ih of June, after an absence of 
six months. 

The meeting with his family must be conceived, 
to describe it is impossible. He had left them 
poor and friendless ; he returned comparatively 
rich. His mother, his brother, and his sister, re- 
ceived with pride and sincere love, a relative 
who was an honour and ornament to his country. 
He returned to them with a heart full of affection, 
and ready to share with them, to the utmost far- 
thing, the pittance that fortune had bestowed. 

Having remained with his family a few days, 
he returned to Edinburgh, and immediately set 
out on a journey to the Highlands. From this 
journey Burns returned to his friends in Ayrshire, 
with whom he spent the month of July, renewing 
his friendships, and extending his acquaintance 
throughout the country. In August Burns again 
visited Edinburgh, and commenced another jour- 



48 LIFE OF BURNS. 

ney, in company with Dr. Adair, through Lin- 
lithgow, Carron, Stirling, the vale of Devon, and 
Harvieston 

At Clackmannan, Burns and his friend paid a 
visit to Mrs, Bruce, a lady upwards of ninety, 
the lineal descendant of King Robert Bruce. This 
visit powerfully interested his feelings. Though 
almost deprived of speech by a paralytic affec- 
tion, this lady yet preserved her hospitality and 
urbanity. She was in possession of the hero's 
helmet, and two-handed sword, with which she 
conferred on Burns and his companion the ho- 
nour of knighthood, remarking that she had a 
better right to confer that title than some peopl-e. 
The old lady's principles being as Jacobitical as 
the poet's, added considerably to the cordiality 
of his reception. 

On their arrival at Dunfermline, they visited 
the ruined Abbey and the Abbey church. Her 
Mr. Adair mounted the cutty stool, assuming th 
character of a penitent for fornication, whit 
Burns from the pulpit addressed to him a ludicrous 
reproof and exhortation, parodied from thai 
which had once been delivered to himself in Ayr* 
shire, when he had been one of seven who 
mounted the stool of shame together. 



LIFE OF BURNS. 49 

In tbe church-yard two broad flag stones mark- 
ed the supposed grave of Robert Bruce, for 
whose memory Burns had a more than usual vene- 
ration. He kneeled and kissed the stone with 
some fervour, and heartily (suits tit mos erat) exe- 
crated the worse than Gothic neglect of the 
greatest of Scottish heroes* 



* These stones did not in fact cover the remains of King Robert s 
nor, till the latter end of the year 1819, was the tomb of this illustri- 
ous hero ascertained, and that in a different situation. Historians 
had recorded that he was interred " debko cum honor e in medie Ec- 
dai* de Dunfermline ,'» but the ruin of the Abbey, at the time of the 
Reformation, and the subsequent neglect of the monuments which it 
contained, rendered it difficult to ascertain where the central spot w»a; 
and 30 entirely was the form of cathedral churches forgotten in that 
part of Great Britain, that the researches were made in a totally differ- 
ent place from the centre of the edifice. In digging the foundation for 
s new church, the labourers came to a tomb arched over with masonry, 
and bearing the marks of more than usual care in its construction. Curi- 
osity being attracted by this circumstance, it was suspected that it might 
contain the long sought for remains, and persons of more skill having 
examined the spot, discovered that it stood precisely in tbe centre qf the 
churchy a3 its form was indicated by the existing ruins. The tomb \va» 
opened in the presence of the Barons of the Exchequer* The dis- 
covery of the name of King Robert on an iron plate among the rubbish 
«nd the cloth of gold in which the bones were shrouded, leave no room 
CD doubt that the vault where his remains lay was at length discovered. 
The appearance of the skeleton, also, in which the breast-bone was sawed 
asunder, afforded a still more interesting proof of its really being the re- 
des of the hero; bis heart having b?en committed to his faithful associate 

D 



50 LIFE OF BURNS.' 

These journies, however, did not satisfy the 
cariosity of Bums. About the beginning of Sep* 
tembcr, he again set out from the metropolis on a 
more extended tour to the Highlands, in company 
wim Mr. Nicol, assistant-teacher in the High- 
school, Edinburgh. After passing through the 
heart of that mountainous division of their native 
country, they stretched northwards, about ten 
miles beyond Inverness. They then bent their 
course eastward, across the island, and returned 
by the shore of the German sea to Edinburgh. 
In the course of this journey the imagination 
of Burns was constantly excited by the wild and 
sublime scenery through which he passed. 

Burns having been introduced to the Duke and 
Duchess of A thole, in return for the hospitable 
reception he met from these illustrious characters, 
sent to them, from Inverness, " The Humble 
Petition of Bruar Water," which Falls he visited 
by the express wish of the duke. At Athole-house 
he met, for the first time, Mr. Graham, of Fintry, 
to whom he was afterwards indebted for his office 
in the Excise. 



itt anna, snd thrown by him, in a pilgrimage Co the Holy Land, amidst 
the ranks of the enemy, with the sublime expression— " Onward, u thou 
*'»« wont, thou fearless heart !" 



| 



LIFE OF BURNS. 51 

Bums remained at Edinburgh during the greater 
part of the winter of 1787-8, and again entered 
into the society and dissipation of that metropolis. 
On the 31st of December he attended a meeting 
to celebrate the birth-day of the late unfortunate 
Prince Charles Edward. On this occasion our 
poet took upon himself the office of laureate, and 
produced an ode, which he recited > and, if 
energy of feeling and of expression were alone 
in question, would have won the butt of Malm- 
sey from the real laureate of the day. 

Having settled with his publisher, in February, 
1788, he found himself master of nearly five hun- 
dred pounds, after discharging all his expenses. 
To his brother Gilbert, who had taken upon him 
the support of their aged niothei, and was strug- 
gling with many difficulties in the farm of Moss- 
giel, he immediately advanced two hundred 
pounds. With the remainder he took the farm 
of Ellisland, on the banks of the Nith, six miles 
above Dumfries* 

The situation in which Burns now found him- 
self was calculated to awaken reflection. In the 
success of his farm the h&ppiness of his family 
was involved ; it was therefore time to abandon 
D 2 



52 LIFE OF 

bis dissipated pursuits. He immediately engaged 
in rebuilding the dwelling-house, which was inade- 
quate to the accommodation of his family. On 
this occasion, he resumed at times the occupation 
of alabourer, and found neither hisstrengthnorhis 
skiWmpaired. Sentiments of independence buoy- 
ed up his mind ; pictures of domestic content and 
peace rose on his imagination ; and a few days 
passed away, the most tranquil, and perhaps the 
Happiest he had ever experienced. 

It is unfortunate that at this period Burns was 
without the society of his wife ; his old habits 
were broken in upon, and his industry was fre- 
quently interrupted by visiting his family in Ayr- 
shire. As the distance was too great for a single 
day's journey, he generally spent a night at an 
inn on the road ; on such occasions he fell into 
company, and forgot the resolutions he had form- 
ed, Temptation also awaited him nearer home . 
he was received at the table of the neighbouring 
gentlemen with kindness and even respect. These 
social parties too often seduced him from the 
labours of his farm and his rustic fare. It was 
uo< long, therefore, before Burns began to view 
his farm with dislike and despondence. 

He was now appointed to the Excise, in Che 



JJFE OF BURNS, S3 

situation of Exciseman of the district in which 
he lived. Unable to reconcile the two occupa- 
tions, his farm was in a great measure abandon- 
ed to his servants ; agriculture no longer occupied 
his thoughts. He was more frequently to be found 
on horseback, pursuing the smugglers among the 
hills of Nithsdale, his eye wandering over the 
scene of nature, and " muttering his wayward 
fancies'' as he moved along. 

Other circumstances also interfered with his 
attention to his farm. He had engaged in the 
formation and management of a society for pur- 
chasing books, and circulating them among the 
farmers in the neighbourhood, and occasionally 
occupied himself in composing songs for the 
musical work of Mr. Johnson, then in the course 
of publication. These engagements necessarily 
contributed to the abstraction of his thoughts, 
and the neglect of his rural affairs. 

The consequences may easily be imagined. 
Notwithstanding the prudence and good manage- 
ment of Mrs. Burns, he found it necessary, after 
the experience of three years and a half, to re- 
linquish his lease. His salary in the Excise being 
increased to seventy pounds per annum, on this 



54 LIFE OF BURNS, 

humble income he hoped to support himself and 
his family till promotion should reach him, and 
removed to a small house in Dumfries, about the 
end of the year 1791. 

His great celebrity made aim an object of in- 
terest and curiosity to strangers, and few persons 
passed through Dumfries without an attempt to 
see him, and to enjoy the pleasure of his conver* 
sation. These interviews often terminated in con- 
vivial excesses ; and among the inhabitants also, 
there were never wanting persons to lead him to 
the tavern ; to applaud the sallies of his wit ; 
and to witness at once the strength and the de- 
gradation of his genius. 



In the four years that he lived in Dumfries, 
he produced many of his beautiful lyrics ; and 
cheerfully consented to give his aid to a collection 
of original Scottish airs aud verses, projected by 
Mr. George Thomson of Edinburgh. During this 
time he made several excursions into the neigh- 
bouring country. In one of these journies he was 
overtaken by a violent storm, on a moor, between 
Kenmore and Gatehouse, where every thing pre- 
sented a wild and desolate aspect. The sky be- 
came lowering and dark. Gleams of slveeted 



LIFE OF BURNS. 55 

lightning were followed by the rolling of thunder. 
The rain began to fall ; and for three hours il 
poured in torrents. In the midst of this storm 
he remained absorbed in thought, wholly inatten- 
tive to the descending floods. Next day he pro- 
duced the celebrated martial hymn, entitled 
Bruce's Address to his Army — a hymn unparal- 
leled in the annals of modern poetry, and equal 
to the happiest efforts of the greatest geniuses of 
antiquity. 

Burns had entertained a hope of promotion in 
the excise ; but an event occurred which at least 
delayed it fulfilment. The events of the French re- 
volution were commented on by him in a manner 
very different from what might have been expected 
from an officer under government. Information 
of his sentiments was given to the Board of 
Excise ; an inquiry was instituted into his ooiv- 
duct ; he was suffered to retain his situation, 
though he met with a severe reprimand. 

This circumstance made a deep impression on 
his mind. Fame exaggerated his misfortune, and 
represented him as actually dismissed from his 
office ; and this report induced a gentleman of 
much respectability to propose a subscription ill 



55 LIFli OF KUKNS. 

his favour. But he refused the offer with great 
elevation of sentiment, and nobly defended 
nimself against the imputation of having made 
submissions for the sake of his office, unworthy 
of his character. 

" The partiality of my countrymen, " he ob- 
serves, u has brought me forward as a man of 
genius, and given me a character to support. 
In the Poet I have avowed manly and indepen- 
dent sentiments, which I hope have been found in 
the man. Reasons of no less weight than the 
support of a wife and children, have pointed out 
my present occupation as the only eligible line of 
life within my reach. Still my honest fame is my 
dearest concern, and a thousand times have I 
trembled at the idea of the degrading epithets 
that malice or misrepresentation may affix to my 
name. Often, in blasting anticipation, have I 
listened to some future hackney scribbler, with 
the heavy malice of savage stupidity, exultingly 
asserting that Bums, notwithstanding the fanfa- 
rmtade of independence to be found in his works, 
aad after having been held np to public view, and 
to public estimation, as a man cf some genius* 
yet, quite destitute of resources within himself to 
support his borrowed dignity, dwindled into a 



LIFE OF BURNS. 5J 

paltry exciseman, and slunk out the rest of hrs 
insignificant existence in the meanest of pursuits, 
ami among the lowest of mankind. 

11 In your illustrious hands, Sir, permit me to 
lodge my strong disavowal and defiance ofsuch 
slanderous falsehoods. Burns v/as a poor man 
from his birth, and an exciseman by necessity ; 
but — I will say it ! — The sterling of his honest 
worth, poverty could not debase, and his inde- 
pendent British spirit, oppression might bend, but . 
could not subdue." 

It was one of the last acts of his life to copy this 
heart-rending letter into a book which he kept for 
the purpose of recording such circumstances as lie 
thought worthy of preservation. Though the cir- 
cumstances of the time required great precaution 
and vigilance on the part of government, yet ge- 
nerous minds will lament that their measures of 
precautions should have robbed the imagination 
of our poet of the last prop on which his hopes of 
independence rested, and by embittering hrs 
peace, have aggravated those excesses which 
were soon to conduct him to au untimely grave ! 

Burns was liable, from a very early period of 



58 IIFE OF BURNS. 

his life, to an interruption of his digestive facul- 
ties ; and which is frequently the cause of depres 
sion of spirits, He had also a disposition to 
head-ache, accompanied by irregular movements 
of the heart. This predisposition to disease might 
have been subdued by habits of temperance : 
but stimulating liquors at length rendered the in 
ordinate actions of the circulating system habi- 
tual. 

Upwards of a year before his death, there was 
an evident decline in his personal appearance; 
and though his appetite continued unimpaired, 
he was himself sensible that his constitution was 
sinking. From October, 1795, to the January 
following, an accidental complaint confined him 
to the house. A few days after he began to go 
abroad, he dined at a tavern, and returned home 
about three o'clock in a very cold morning, be- 
numbed and intoxicated. This was followed by an 
attack of rheumatism, which confined him about 
a week. His appetite now began to fail ; his 
hand shook, and his voice faltered on any exertion 
or emotion. His pulse became weaker and more 
rapid, and pains in the larger joints, and in the 
hands and feet, deprived him of sleep. In the 
month of June, 1796, he removed to Brow in An- 



LIFE OF BURNS. 59 

aandale, about ten miles from Dumfries, to try 
the effects of sea-bathing. Here he was invited to 
dinner by a lady in the neighbourhood, connected 
in friendship by the sympathies of kindred genius ; 
and as he was unable to walk, she sent her car- 
riage for him to the cottage where he lodged. As 
he entered her apartment the stamp of death 
seemed imprinted on his features ; he appeared 
already touching the brink of eternity. His first 
salutation was, "Well, Madam, have yon any 
commands for the other world ?** He ate little, 
and complained of having entirely lost the tone 
of his stomach. He spoke of his death without 
any of Hie ostentation of philosophy, but with 
firmness and feeling, as an event likely to happen 
very soon. His anxiety for his family hun^ heavy 
upon him ; the more, perhaps, from reflecting 
that he had not done them all the justice he was 
60 well qualified to do : and when he alluded to 
their approaching desolation, his heart was touch- 
ed with pure and unmingled sorrow. 

In the midst of his wanderings, Burns met no- 
thing in his family circle but gentleness and 
forgiveness. He had frequently acknowledged 
his follies, promised amendment, and again and 
again received pardon for his offences. But as 



60 LIFE OF BURNS. 

the strength of his body decayed, Ids resolution 
became weaker, and habit acquired predominate E 
ing strength. But let us refrain from the men- j 
tion of errors which delicacy and humauity te» \\ 
quire to be concealed. ( 

At first he imagined that bathing in the sea had 
been of benefit to him : the pains in his limbs 
were relieved ; but this was immediately followed 
by a new attack of fever. When brought back 
to his own house in Dumfries, on the 18th of July, 
lie was no longer able to stand upright. A tremor 
pervaded his frame, his tongue was parched, and 
his mind fell into delirium, when not roused by 
conversation. On the second and third day the 
fever increased, and his strength diminished. On 
the fourth, the sufferings of this great, but ill-fated 
genius, were terminated ; and a life was closed 
which had been embittered by suffering, and in- 
sulted by unmerited calumny. 

When his death was known, it excited a deep 
and mournful sensation. He was lamented, not 
merely like a common individual, by friends an<* 
neighbours, but by a whole country, whose plea- 
sures he had an exclusive capacity to augment. 

left a widow and four sort*. The oeremo- 



LIFE OF BURNS. 61 

3 nial of his interment was accompanied with 
military honours, not only by the corps of Dum- 
fries volunteers, of which he was a member, but 

'by the Fencible Infantrv, and a regiment of 
Cinque Port cavalry, then quartered in Dumfries. 

^ On the same day, by a coincidence siugularly 

, touching, Mrs. Burns was delivered of a son, who 

I did not long survive his father. 

After contemplating the melancholy storv of 
' his life, every feeling mind must heave a sigh at 
j the asperity of hi? fortune. The general behaviour 
of Burns bespoke a mind conscious of superior 
talents, yet mixed with familiarity and affability. 
His conversation was rich in wit and humour, and 
occasionally in serious reflection. No man had a 
quicker apprehension of right and wrong, or « 
stronger sense of what was ridiculous and mean. 
He died in penury, but not in debt, and left be- 
hind him a name which will be remembered as 
long as departed worth and goodness a esteemed 
among men. 



CRITIQUE 



WRITINGS OF BURNS. 



It is the common folly of a common mind to 
offer np its mite on some high and mighty altar, 
where it lies undistinguished amid the magnifi- 
cence of nobler offerings ; and to pour forth the 
incense of adulation on the titled poet, while it 
regards with scorn or apathy, the writings which 
emanate from the humble peasant, however 
worthy or meritorious. 

There is no poet of the present day more de- 
servedly popular than Burns. Though born m 
a humble station of life, he raised himself, by the 
exertions of his mind, to the highest pitch of in- 
tellectual greatness. The originality of his genius, 
the energy of his language, and the richness of his 
imagination, merit the gratitude, as well as the 
admiration, of mankind. 



CRITIQUE. 63 

The poems of Burns were principally composed 
amidst poverty and sorrow, and during the hours 
of incessant labour. Although they are more cal- 
culated to please his countrymen, they possess a 
charm, which renders them highly interesting to 
every reader. They bring us more intimately ac- 
quainted with the habits and character of the 
Scottish peasantry, and they reveal so many par- 
ticulars of their domestic economy, that they will 
be read by every one who has any curiosity re- 
specting their manners, with an interest, different 
Indeed in kind, but scarcely interior in degree, 
to that with which they have read the details of 
homely life in the works of the author of Waverley. 

f 

i Endowed by nature with a heart full of the 

i finest sensibilities, an understanding acute and 
profound, and an ardent love and devotion for 
the songs and old traditional lore of his native 

« country, it is no wonder he became a poet. 

iTThat he could have lived among the peasantry of 
Scotland, always mixing with them on torms of 

-equality, and in the spirit of sympathy, without 
acquiring vast stores of knowledge concerning 
them, and all that belonged to their mode of life, 
entirely inacessible to authors moving in a higher 
order of society, was impossible. 



64 CRITIQUE. 

The virtues of Burns belonged to his genius, 
his vices to his situation, which did not correspond 
with his genius : instead of the artificial flowers or 
poetry, he plucked the mountain daisy under his 
feet; and a field mouse hurrying from its ruined 
dwelling, could inspire him with the sentiments 
of terror and pity ; he held the pen aDd the plough 
with the same manly grasp : with him u self-love 
and social" were the same : his pictures of good 
fellowship and quaint humour, come up to 
Nature— they cannot go beyond it. He had an 
eye to see, and a heart to feel : the sly jest col- 
lected in his laughing eye at the sight of the gro- 
tesque and ludicrous ; the large tear roiled down 
his manly cheek at the sight of another's dis- 
tress. 

The " Twa Dogs" is a very spirited descriptive 
piece, and affords a vivid idea of the manners of 
high and low life. " The Brigs of Ayr,* the 
" Address to a Haggis/' u Scotch Drink," and 
many others, are full of characteristic humour. Iu 
" Tarn o* Shanter," and the k( Cotter's Saturday 
Night," Burns has given the extremes of licen- 
tious eccentricity and convivial indulgence, ami 
of patriarchal simplicity and gravity. The latter 
was composed at the plough, and is one of sus- 



CRITIQUE. 65 

tained and perfect beauty. The subject was a 
happy one, — happy beyond what could have been 
the lot of any poet born in any other country! 
for in Scotland alone does there exist, among the 
peasantry, a union of knowledge, morality, and 
religion, so universal and so solemn, as to consti- 
tute national character ;*— to hallow and sublime 
that night which feels, as it w r ere, the influence of 
the approaching Sabbath, and to render it a 
weekly festival, held in mirthful gladness, and 
pious composure of heart. It is the spirit of religion 
that makes the Cotter's Saturday Night at once 
delightful and awful to our imagination, and a fit 
subject for the highest of all poetry. Dr. John- 
son observes, that " contemplative piety cannot 
be poetical." The Cotter's Saturday Night is a 
decided negative to this assumption ; it is a noble 
and pathetic picture of human manners, mingled 
■ with a fine religious awe ; it comes over the mind 
like solemn music. But of all Burns' productions, 
his pathetic and serious love songs leave the most 
lasting and deep impression on the memory, par- 
ticularly the lines entitled " Jessie " and " Mary 
Morrison." His ballads in general hold a close 
i intimacy with Nature— a firm reliance on that 
, as the only stock of wealth to which his mind ha* 
to resort, and possess a simplicity of manner** 
Vol. I. F 



66 CRITIQUE, 

a strength of affection— sighs that the heart dsrh 
not leave, and "thoughts that do often lie too 
deep for tears." 

However unlike Burns may be to Shakspeare 
in the range of his genius, there is something of 
the same magnanimity and unaffected character 
in hhn. He had little of Shakspeare's imagina- 
tion, or inventive power, but in the narrow circle 
of personal feeling, or domestic incidents, his 
poetic ideas flow equally vigorous and powerful. 
" Bruce's Address to his Army," is not equalled 
by any poem of the same kind in being. It was 
written amid the storm and tempest, and near 
the spot on which the battle of Bannock-burn 
was fought, by which the liberties of his coun- 
try were recovered. It was the offering of 
a heart glowing with patriotism, on the altar 
of his country. The battle of Holienlinden, only 
inferior to this, fails in those essentials which 
Burns enjoyed — time, place, and circumstance — 
the latter is an effusion of genius alone, the 
former, a combination of passion, feeling, and de- 
votion. 

' * The Jolly Beggars forms a singular contrast 
to the generality of his poems. In thus selecting 



CRITIQUE. 67 

the most prominent of his works, we wish to call 
the attention of the reader to the extent and 
variety of his genius. In the epic or the humour- 
ous, he is always happy. To no rule a slave, he 
wanders free and onconfmed through the regions 
of poetry : a pupil of nature, he followed her 
dictates alone ; wherever her finger pointed, he 
obeyed the impulse, and, in giving the reins to 
humour, he never deviated from her path. The 
•* Jolly Beggars" is a piece of low life : the broken- 
down licentious soldier and his companion ; the 
abandoned trull ; the self-degraded artisan ; and 
the other characters of this drama, may be seen 
daily in the streets of the metropolis, and in 
those of our principal commercial cities. The 
sight of them will immediately bring to the recol- 
lection, the original of the pictures Burns has so 
faithfully copied. As a piece of low humour 
and character it is unrivalled ; though it is liable 
to objection on the score of modesty and morality. 

In his satirical poems, he has been condemned 
for his personality, and deservedly so. Burns had 
suffered under the discipline of the Kirk, and he 
did not forget it. The persons whom he has 60 
severely castigated, were gentlemen of amiable 
characters, and his mode of revenge cannot be 
E2 



€8 CRITIQUE. 

justified, Hypocrisy is always considered to be 
a fair mark for satire, and deserves exposure, but 
the offence should be separated from the man. 
" Holy Willie" is one of those pieces, for the 
publication of which he was indebted to the im- 
prudence of a friend. In keenness of invective, 
bitter allusion, and severe satire, he, if possible, 
surpasses the celebrated writer of the letters of 
Junius. But here the comparison must end 
Holy Willie is as conspicuous for coarseness and 
vulgarity, as the letters of Junius are for refine- 
ment and elegance. 

While the merits of Burns, as a writer, was 
almost universally acknowledged, it must be 
painful to find, that those gentlemen who patro- 
nized him, should have met with reproach from a 
quarter where it could never have been expected. 
A Reverend Gentleman, now no more, in speak- 
ing of Burns, observed, " that those persons who 
patronized that man, were a disgrace to their 
country !" Is it possible that a gentleman, 
whose own genius had burst asunder the fetters 
of fanaticism, could so far degrade himself? He 
surely must have forgotten what he had suffered 
in his own person when he made the assertion. 
lu what light was his tragedy considered by the 



CRITIQUE. 1)9 

members of the Kirk, when they expelled him 
from the performance of its duties ? Are there 
degrees in which vice may be tolerated ?— And 
by what standard are they to be estimated ? — 
Was his illustrions benefactor (<i a disgrace to his 
country?" — u The resentment of a ****** is im- 
placable ; no surTerings can soften, no penitence 
can appease him." It is lamentable when splendid 
genius degrades itself by vicious pursuits, but it is 
the duty of every one to defend it from the at- 
tacks of malice and envy. The service of litera* 
ture, requires that its writers should be bold and 
free — submissive, indeed, where all minds should 
submit, — but within that circumscription, uncon- 
trolled. 

Burns had, in many instances, the advantage 
of some of his brethren — men of, perhaps, equal 
abilities with himself, who met with only con* 
luinely, during their lives. His noble countrymen, 
undeterred by the factious voice of calumny, not 
ouly fostered his rising genius, and protected it 
till it reached maturity, but, when death had 
snatched his victim from their disinterested sup- 
port, paid his remains the highest respect; wiped 
the tear from the eyes of the widow and her or* 
phans ; and raised a monument to the memory 



/O CRITIQUE. 

of a man who had contributed to support tht high j 
literary fame of his country, and whom future 
generations will honour as their poet and bene- 
factor* 

Fame will not fail to do justice to the writings 
of Bhius : not that kind of fame which consists 
in the idle buzz of fashion, or the recompense of the 
living; but the reward of the dead. True fame, is 
the spirit of a man surviving himself in the 
minds and thoughts of other men. Her temple 
stands on the grave, and the flame that burns 
upon her altars, is kindled from the ashes of those 
to whom the incense is offered ; for the brightest 
living reputation cannot be equally imposing to 
the imagination, with that which is rendered 
sacred by the hand of death, 



( 71 ) 



GLOSSARY. 



THE cb and gb have always the guttural sounJ. The sound of the 
KoglJjh diphthong oo t is commonly spelt ou. The French u, a 
sound which often occurs in the Scottish language, is marked M, 
or ui. The a in genuine Scottish words, except when forming a 
diphthong, or followed by an e mute after a single consonant, 
sounds generally like the broad English a in wall. The Scottish 
diphthongs ae t always, and ea very often, sound like the French e 
masculine. The Scottish diphthong ey t sounds like the Latin ei. 



V, all, every one, the whole. 
Aback, away, aloof. 
Abeigh, at a shy distance. 
Aboon, above, up, in the regions 

of heaven. 
Abread, abroad, in sight, at large. 
Abread,in breadth. 
Ae, one. 
Aft", off. 

Aff-hand,extempore,immediately. 
AfF-loof, unpremeditated. 
Afore, before, sooner than. 
Aft, oft. 
Aften, often, frequently, many 

times. 
Agley , off the right line, oblique, 

wrong. 
Ailllns, perhaps. 
Air, tbe oak. 
Air, early, soon. 
Airl-penny, earnest-money, a 



piece of money for confirming 
a bargain. 

Airt, quarter of the heaven*; to 
direct 

Aim, iron. 

Aith, an oath. 

Aits, oats. 

Aiver, an old horse. 

Aizle, a hot cinder. 

Alake, alas! 

Alane, alone, solitary, single, 
without company. 

Akwart, awkward, inelegant, un- 
taught. 

Amaist, almost, nearly. \ 

Amang, among, mingled with* 

An', and, if. 

Anee, once, one time. 

Ane, one, and. 

Anent, over against, concerning. 

Anither, another, one more. 

Ase, ashes, the remains of hunt 
•oals. 



72 



GLOSSARY. 



Asklent, asquint, aslant. 

Asteer, abroad, stirring. 

Athart, athwart, wrong. 

Aught, possession ; as, in a* my 
augbt, in all my possession* 

AuMfarren, or auld farrent, saga- 
cious, cunning, prudent. 

Auld lang syne, older times, days 
of other years. 

Auld, old, ancient, advanced in 
years. 

Auntie, an aunt. 

Ava', at all, of all, of any. 

Awa', away, absent. 

Aufu', awful, terrible. 

Awn, the beard of barief, oats, 
&c 

Awnie, bearded. 

Ayunt, beyond, at a distance, out 
of the reach of. 



BA», balL 

Backets, ash boards ; a squire 

wooden vessel for carrying coals 

to the fire ; a kind of box for 

holding salt. 
Backlins comin*, coming back, 

returning. 
Bad, did bid. 
Baide, endured, did stay. 
Bailie, a magistrate in Scotland, 

answering to an alderman in 

England. 
Baggie, dimin. of bag, a familiar 

term used to signify the belly. 
Bainie, having large bones, stout. 
Bairn, a child. 
Baimtirr.e, a family of children, 

a brood. 
Baith, both, likewise. 
Bake, a small cake or biscuit. 
Ban, tn swear, to make an irre- 
verent exclamation ; reproach. 

censure. 



Bane, bone. 

Bang, to beat, to strive, to excel. 

Bardie, dimin. of bard. 

Barefit, barefooted, without sooe* 

or stockings 
Barmie, of, or like barm. 
Batch, a crew, a gang. 
Batts, botts, small worms in the 

entrails of horses. 
Baudrons, a eat. 
Bauld, bold, intrepid. 
Bawk, a strip of land left un- 

ploughed, two or three feet in 

width ; a ridge, a bank. 
Baws'nt, having a white strip 

down the face. 
Be, to let be, to give over, to 

cease. 
Bear, barley t 
Beastie, dimin. of Deast. 
Beet, to add fuel to fire. 
Beld, Y.ald, without hair on the 

head. 
Belyrc, by and by 
Ban, into the spence or parlour. 
Benmost, innermost. 
Benlomond, a noted mountain in 

Ihunhartcnshire. 
Bethankit, grace or short prayci 

after the time or act of eating. 
Beuk, a book. 
Bicker, a kind of wooden dish, a 

short race. 
Bie, or Bield, shelter. 
Bien, wealthy, plentiful. 
Big, to build. 
Biggin, building, a house. 
Biggit, built. 
Bill, a bull. 

Billie, a brother, a young fellow. 
Bing, a heap of grain, potatoes, 

&c. 
Birk, birch. 
Birken-shaw, Birchenwood-shaw 

a small wood. 
Birkie, a clever fellow. 






GLOSSARY, 



Birring, the noise of partridges, 
&c. when they spring. 

Bit, crisis, nick of time 

Bi£z, a bustle ; to Buzz. 

Blae, livid. 

Blastie, a shrivelled dwarf, a term 
of contempt. 

Bias tit, blasted 

Blate, bashful, theepish. 

Blather, bladder. 

Blaud, a fiat piece of any thing ; 
to slap. 

Blaw, to blow, to boast. 

Bleerifc, bleared, sore with rheum. 

Bleert and blin, bleared and blind. 

Bleezing, blazing, flaming. 

Blellum, idle talking fellow. 

Blether, to talk idly ; non- 
sense. 

Bleth'rin, talking idly. 

Blink, a little while, a smiling 
look ; to look kindly, to shine 
by fits. 

Blinker, a term of contempt. 

Blinkin, smirking, ogling. 

Blithe, or Blythe, cheerful. 

Blue-gown, one of those beggars 
who get annually, on the king's 
birth-day, a blue cloak or 
gown, with a badge. 

Bluid, blood. 

Bluntie, snivelling. 

Blype, a shred, a large piece. 

Bock, to vomit, to gush inter- 
mittently. 

Boeked, gushed, vomited. 

Bodle, an old copper coin, of the 
value of two pennies Scots, or 
one-third of an English penny. 

Bogles, spirits, hobgoblins. 

Bonie,or bony, handsome, beauti 
ful. 

Btmnock, a kind of thick cake d 
bread, a small jannack, or loaf 
made of oatmeal. 

B&oxd, * board. 



Boor-tree,the shrub elder; pliated 
much of old in hedges of barn- 
yards, &c. 

Boost, behoved, must needs. 

Bore, a hole in the wall. 

Botch, blotch, an angry tumour. 

Bouk, body, a person. 

Bousing, drinking, quaffing. 

Bow-kail, cabbage. 

Bow-hough'd, applied to the lower 
part of the thighs, when crook- 
ed or bent outwards. 

Erachens, fern. 

Brae, a declivity, a precipice, the 
slope of a hill. 

Braid, broad, plain. 

Bragin't, reel'd forward. 

Braik, a kind of harrow, an in- 
strument used in husbandry. 

Brainge, to run rashly forward. 

Brak, broke, made insolvent. 

8ranks, a kind of wooden curb 
for horses. 

Brash, a sudden illness. 

Brats, coarse clothes, rags, &c. 

Brattle, a short race, hurry, fury. 

Braw, fine, handsome. 

Brawlyt, or Brawlie, very well, 
finely, heartily. 

Braxie, a morbid sbeep. 

Breastie, dimin. of breast. 

Breastit, did spring up or tot. 
ward. 

Breckan, fen.. 

Breef, an invulnerable or irresis- 
tible speL. 

Breeks, breeches, 

Brent, smooth. 

Brewin, brewing. 

Brie, juice, liquid. 

Brig, a bridge. 

Brunstane, brimstone. 

Brisket, the breast, the bosom . 

Brither, a brother. 

Brock, a badger. 

Brogue, a hum, a trick. 



74 



GLOSSARY. 



Broo, broth, liquid, water. 

Broose, a kind of pottage made 
by pouring boiling water or 
broth on oat-meal, which is 
stirred while the water U pour- 
ed ; — a race at country wed- 
dings, who shall first reach the 
bridegroom's house on return- 
ing from church, so called 
perhaps, from brose being al- 
lotted to the victor. 

Brownie, a spirit supposed, till 
lately, to haunt old houses, 
particularly those attached to 
farms, and sometimes to do the 
drudgery of the servants during 
the night. 

Brugh, a burgh. 

Bruilzie, a broil, a combustion. 

Brunt, did burn, burnt. 

Brust, to burst, burst. 

Buchan-biillers, the boiling of the 
sea among the rocks on the 
coast of Buchan. 

Buckskin, an inhabitant of Vir- 
ginia-. 

Boght, a pen. 

Bughtin-time, the time of, col- 
lecting the sheep in the pens to 
be milked. 

Buirdly, stout made, broad made. 

Bum-clock, a humming beetle 
that flies in the summer even- 
ings. 

Bumming, humming, as bees. 

Bummle, to blunder : a dolt, 
stupid person. 

Bummler, a blunderer. 

Bunker, a window-seat. 

Bardies, dimin. of birds. 

Bure, did bear. 

Burn, water, a rivulet. 

Bu»nie, dimin. of burn. 

Buskie, bushy. 

Buskit, dressed finely, decorated. 

Busks, dresses. 



Busle, a bustle, to bust e» 

Buss, bush, shelter. 

But, Bot, with, without 

But an' Ben, the country kitchea 

and parlour 
By himsel, lunatis, distracted. 
Byke,a bee-hive, a crowd. 
Byre, a cow-house. 



CA», to call, to name, to drive. 
Cat, or Ca'd, called, driven* 

calved. 
Cadger, a carrier. 
Cadie, or Caddie, a person, 

young fellow. 
Caff, chaff. 
Caird, a tinker. 
Cairn, a loose heap of stone*. 
Calf- ward, a small enclosure* for 

calves. 
Callan, a boy. 

Culler, fresh, sound, refreshing. 
Canie, or Cannie, gentle, mild, 

dexterous. 
Cannilie, dexterously, gently. 
Cantie, or Canty, cheerful 

merry. 
Cantraip, a charm, a spelL 
Caprin, capering, skipping met 

rily. 
Cap-^tane, cope-stone, keystone 
Careerin, cheerfully. 
Carl, an old man. 
Carl-hemp, the largest stalk of 

hemp, firmness of mind. 
Carlin, a stout old woman 
Cartes, cards. 
Caudron, a caldron. 
Cauk and keel, chalk and red clay 
Cauld, cold. 

Caup, a wooden drinking.vessel. 
Cavie, a coop or penn Cor poultry 
Cawd, driven. 



GIOSSARY. 



Ces<*c, taxes. 

Caanter, a part of a bag-pipe. 
Chap, a person, a fellow, a blow. 
Chaup, a stroke, a Mow. 
Cheekit, checked. 
Cheep, a chirp , to chirp. 
Chlel, or Cheel, a young fellow. 
Chimla, or Chimlie, a fire-grate, 

a fire-place. 
Chimla-lug, the fire-side. 
Chittcring, shivering, trembling. 
Chockin, choking. 
Chow, to chewj cbetk for cboiv, 

side by side. 
ChufF.e, fat-faced. 
Clachan, a sms.ll village about a 

church, a hamlet. 
Claise, or Claes, clothes. 
Claith, cloth. 
Claithing, clothing. 
Ciaivers, nonsense, not speaking 

sense. 
Clap, clapper of a mill. 
Clarkit, wrote. 
Clash, an idle tale, the story of the 

day. 
Clatter, to tell little idle stories ; 

an idle story. 
Claught, snatched at, laid hold 

of. 
Claut, to clean, to scrape; a heap, 

a great quantity, nbundance. 
Clauted, scraped. 
Claver, clover. 
Clavers, idle stories. 
Claw, to scratch. 
ClawM, scratched. 
Claymore, a sword, a weapon 

used either in cutting or thrust- 
ing. 
Cleed, to clothe. 
Cleeds, clothes. 
Cieek, to lay hold of after the 

manner of a hook, to seize at 

all events. 
Cleckit, hating caught. 



Clinkin, Jet king, clinking. 
Clinkumbell, he who rings the 

church-bell. 
Clips, sheers. 

Clishmaclaver, idle conversation* 
. Clock, to hatch ; a beetle. 
Ch'Ckin, hatching. 
Cloot,the hoof of a cow, sheep, 

&c. 
Clootie, an old name for the 

Devil. 
Clour, a bump or swelling after a 

blow. 
Clout, to beat, to strike; a blow, 

a cuff. 
Cluds, clouds. 
Clunk, to guggle in the manner of 

a bottle when it is emptying. 
Coaxin, wheedling, flattery. 
Coble, a fishing boat. 
Cockernony, a lock of hair tied 

upon a girl's head ; a cay. 
Cockie, dimin. of cock. 
Ceft, bought. 
Cog, a wooden dish. 
Coggie, dimin. of cog. 
Coila, from Kyle, a district of 

Ayrshire ; so called, saith tra- 
dition, from Coil, or Coilu3, a 

Pictish monarch. 
Collie, a general, and sometime* 

a particular, name for country 

curs. 
Collieshangie, quarrelling. 
Commaun, command. 
Cood, the cud. 
Coof, a blockhead, a ninny. 
Cookit, appeared and disappeared 

by fits. 
Cooser, a horse kept for mares. 
Coost, did cast. 
Coot, the ancle, or foot. 
Cootie, a wooden kitchen dish ; 

fowls who<e legs are clad with 

feathers, are said to be coctie* 
Corbies, a specie* of the crow 



76 



GLOSSARY, 



Core, corps, party, clan. 
Corn't, fed with oats. 
Cotter, the inhabitant of a cot- 
house, or eottage. 
Couthie, kind, loving. 
Cove, a cave. 
Cowe, to terrify, to keep under, 

to lop ; a fright, a branch of 

furze, broom, &c 
Cowp, to barter, to tumble over | 

a gang. 
Cowpit, tumbled. 
Cowrin, cowering, stooping. 
Cowte, a colt, a young horse. 
Cozie, snug. 
Coziely, snugly. 
Crabbit, crabbed, fretful, sour. 
Crack, to converse ; conversation. 
Crackin, conversing. 
Craft, or Croft, in old husbandry, 

a field near a house. 
Cfaigie, dimin. of craig, the 

throat, the neck. 
Craiks, birds, incessant calls or 

cries. 
Crambo-clink, or Crambo-jingle, 

rhymes, doggrel -verses. 
Crank, the noise of an ungreased 

wheel. 
Crankous, fretful, captious. 
Cranreuch, the hoar frost. 
Crap, a crop ; pro-iu e of land ; 

to crop. 
Craw, a crow of a cock, a rook. 
Creel, a kind of osier basket ; to 

bave 9ne's wits in a creel, 

to be crazed, to oe fascinated. 
Creeshie, greasy. 
Crocks, old ewes that have given 

over bearing. 
Cronie, or Crony, an intimate 

acquaintance. 
Crood, or Croud, to coo as a 

deve. 
C*oon,a hollow continued moan ; 
to make a noise like the con- 



tinued roar of a bull ; to hum 

a tune. 
Crooning, humming. 
Crouchie, crook-backed. 
Crouse, cheerful, courageous. 
Crousely, cheerfully, courageous* 

iy- 

Crowdie, a composition of oat- 
meal and boiled water, some- 
times from the breth of beef, 
m tstton, fee. 

Crowdie-time, breakfast time. 

Croulin, crawling, creeping. 

Csummock, a oow with crooked 
horns. 

Crump, hard and brittle ; spoken 
of bread. 

Crunt, a blow on the head with a 
cudgel. 

Cuif, a blockhead, a ninny. 

Cammock, a short staff with A 
crooked head. 

Curchie, a curtesy. 

Curler, a player at a game on the 
ice, practised in Scotland, called 
curling. 

Curlie, curled; one whoee hair 
falls naturally in ringlets. 

Curling, a wcU-known game on 
the ice. 

Curmurring, murmuring, a slight 
rumbling noise. 

Curpin, the crupper. 

Cushat, the dove, or wood-pigeon. 

Cutty, short, a spoon broken in 
the middle, a light woman. 

Cutty-stool, the stool on which 
culprits sit when making public 
satisfaction in the kirk, for 
having committed fornication. 



DADDIE, a father. 
Daezt, stupified, deprived of vi- 
gour or sensibility. 



GLOSSARY. 



77 



Dafnn, merriment, foolishness. 

Daft, merry, giddy, foolish. 

Daimcn, rare, now and then. 

Daimen-icker, an ear of torn now 
and then. 

Dainty, pleasant, good-humoured, 
agreeable. 

Dales, plains, valleys. 

Danton, to intimidate, to subdue. 

Dam, urine, piddle. 

Dark.lins, darkling, being in the 
dark, void of light. 

Daud, to thrash, to abuse. 

Daur,to dare, to defy. 

Daurt, dared, defied. 

Daurg, or Daurlt, a day's la- 
bour. 

Davoc, David. 

Dawd, a large piece. 

Dawtit, or Dautet, fondled, ca- 
ressed. 

Dearies, dimin. of dears. 

Dearthfu', dear. 

Deave, to deafen. 

Deil-ma-care ! no matter! for 
all that. 

Deleerit, delirious. 

Deserive, to describe. 

Devle, a stunning blow. 

Diddle, to shake, to jog. 

Dight, to wipe, to clean corn 
from chaff ; cleaned from chaff. 

Dights, cleans. 

Din, sallow. 

Ding, to worst, to push. 

Dinna, do not. 

Dirl, a slight tremulous stroke or 
pain. 

DizzeH,or Dlz'n, a dozen. 

Doited, stupified, hebetated. 

Dolt, stupified, crazed; a stupid 
fellow. 

Donsie, unlucky. 

Dool, sorrow j to sing dool t to 
lament, to mouru. 

Doos, doves, 



Dorty, saucy, nice, discontented. 

Douce, or Douse, sober, wise r pru- 
dent. 

Doucely, soberly, prudently. 

Dought, was or were able. 

Doup, the backside. 

Doup-skelper, one who strikes the 
tail. 

Dour, sullen, obstinate. 

Doure, stout, durable, sullen, 
stubborn. 

Douser, more prudent. 

Dow, am or are able, can. 

Dowff, pithless, wanting spirit. 

Dowie, worn with grief, fatigue, 
&c. half asleep. 

Downa, am or are not able, can- 
not. 

Doylt, stupid. 

Drap, a drop ; to drop. 

Drapping, dropping. 

Draunting, drawling. 

Dreep, to ooze, to drop. 

Dreigh, tedious, long about it. 

Dribble, drizzling, slaver. 

Driddle, to be diligent insignifi- 
cantly. 

Drift, a drove. 

Droddum, thebree«h. 

Drone, part of a bag-pipe. 

Droop-rum pl't, that droops at the 
crupper. 

Droukit, drenched, wet. 

Drouth, thirst, drought. 

Drucken, drunken. 

Drumly, muddy, thick, obscure. 

Drummock, meal and water miz- 
ed raw. 

Drunt, pet, sour humour. 

Dub, a small pond. 

Duds, rags, clothes. 

Duddie, ragged. 

Dung, worsted, pushed, driven, 
exhausted. 

Dunted, beaten, boxed. 

Dush, to push as a ram, &c. 



78 



GLOSSARY. 



IXrsht, pushed by £ ram, ox, &c 



E. 

E'E, the eye. 
E'en, the eyes. 

E'enin, evening, the close of the 
day. 

Eerie, frighted, dreading spirits. 

Eild,eld age. 

Elbuck, the elbow. 

Eldritch, ghastly, frightful. 

In', end. 

Enbrueh, Edinburgh. 

Encugh, enough. 

Especial, especially. 

Ettle, to try, to attempt, to e»» 

deivour. 
Evdent, diligent, Industrious. 



F. 

FA», fall, lot ; to fall. 

Fa's, does fall; waterfalls. 

Faddom't, fathomed. 

Fac, a foe, an enemy. 

Faem,foam. 

Faiket, unknown, unemployed, 

Fairic, a present at fair-time, 

Fallow, fellow. 

Fand, did rind. 

Farl, a cake of bread. 

Fash, trouble, care ; to trouble, 

to care for. 
Fashious, troublesome. 
Fasht, troubled. 
Fastern-een, Fastens Even. 
Fauld, a fold ; to fold. 
Faulding, folding. 
Faut, fault. 

Fawsont, decent, seemly. 
Fcal, a-field ; smooth. 
Fearfu', frightful. 
Fear»t, frighted. 



Feat, neat, spruce. 

Fecht, to fight; a itrujgie 

whatever kind. 
Fechtin, fighting. 
Feck, many, plenty. 
Fecket, waistcoat. 
Feckfu', large, brawny, stout 
Fecklesi, puny, weak, silly jtrifli-i^ 
Feckly, weakly. 
Feg, a fig. » 

Feide, feud, enmity. 
Fell, keen, biting ; the flesh im- 
mediately under the skin ; a 

field p*etty level on the tiie o* 

top of a hill. 
Fen, successful straggle, fight. 
Fend, to live comfortably. 
Ferlie, or Ferly, to wor.der } ft 

wonder ; a term of contempt. 
Fetch, to pull by fits. 
Fetch't, pulled intermittently. 
Fey, foe. 
Fidge, to fidget. 
Fiel,soft, smooth. 
Fient, fiend, a petty oath. 
Fier, sound, healthy ; a brothei, 

a fnend. 
Ftfile, tu make a rustling noise, So 

fidget ; a bustle. 
Fit, a foot. 
Fizz, to make a hissing noise, 

like fermentation. 
Flainen, flannel. 
Flcech, to supplicate or intreai la 

a flattering manner. 
Fleech'd, supplicated. 
Fleechin, supplicating 
Fleesh, a fleece. 
Flcg, a kick, a random blow. 
Flether, to decoy by fair words. 
Fletherin, flattering. 
Flewit, a smart blow. 
Fley, to scare, to frighten. 
Flichter, to flutter as young ne»t» 

lings, when their dam approach- 



GLOSSARY. 



79 



Flinders, shreds, broken pieces. 

Flingi n-tree, a piece of timber 
hung by way of partition be- 
tween two horses in a stable ; 
a flan. 

Flisk, to fret at the yoke. 

Fliskit, fretted. 

Flitter, to vibrate like the wings 
of small birds. 

Flittering, fluttering, Titrating. 

Flunkie, a servant in livery. 

Foord, a ford. 

Forbears, forefathers, ancestors, 

Forbye, besides. 

Forfairn, distressed, worn out, 
faded. 

Forfcughten, fatigued. 

Forgather, to meet, to encounter 
with. 

Forgie, to forgive. 

Forjesket, Jaded with fatigue. 

Forrit, forward* 

Fother, fodder. 

Fou, full, drunk. 

Foughten, troubled, harassed. 

Fouth, plenty, enough, or more 
than enough. 

Few, a bushel, &c. ; also a pitch- 
fork. 

Frae, from. 

Freatti, froth. 

Frien', friend. 

Fu>, full. 

Fud, the scut or tail of the hare, 
coney, &c 

Faff, to blow intermittently. 

FufF't, did blow. 

Fannie, full of merriment 

Far, a furrow. 

Farm, a form, bench. 

Fyke, trifling cares ; to piddle, 
to be in a fuss about trifles ; to 
agitate. 

Fyle, to soil, to dirty, to pollute. 

Fyl't. ±cd t dirted, polluted. 



GAB, the mouth ; to apeak boldly 

or pertly. 
Gaterlunzie, an old man. 
Gadsman, ploughboy, the boy 

that drives the horses in the 

plough. 
Gae, to go. 
Gaed, went. 
Gaen, or Gane, gone. 
Gaun, going 
Gaet, or Gate, way, manner 

road. 
Gang, to go, to walk, 
Gangrel, strolling, wandering 

roving. 
Gar, to make, to force. 
Gar't, forced. 
Garten, a garter. 
Gash, wise, sagacioas, talkative , 

to converse. 
Gashin, conversing. 
Gaucy, jolly, large. 
Gawky, half-witted, foolish, 

romping. 
Gear, riches, goods of any kind. 
Geek, to toss the head in wantoo* 

ness or scorn. 
Ged, a pike. 
Gentles, great folks. 
Geordie, a guinea. 
Get, a chil , a young one. 
Ghaist, a ghost. 
Gie, tc give. 
Gied, gave. 
Gien, given, 
Giftie, dimin. of gift. 
Giglets, playfsl girls. 
Gillie, dicain. of gill. 
Gilpey, a half-grown, half- in- 
formed boy or girl, a romping 

lad, a hoiden. 
Gimmer, an ewe from o.e to two 

years old. 



80 



GLOSSARY. 



Gin, if, Bgalnst. 

Gipsey, a young girl. 

Girdle, a round plate of iron for 
toasting cakes over the fire. 

Girn, to grin, to twist the fea 
tures in rage, agony, &c. 

Girning, grinning. 

Gizz, a periwig. 

Glaikit, inattentive, foolish. 

Glaive, a sword. 

Glaizic, glittering, smooth like 
a glass. 

Glaum'd, aimed, snatched. 

Gleg, sharp, ready. 

Gleib, glebe. 

Glen, dale, deep valley. 

Gley, a-squinr, ; to squint. 

Glib-gabbet, that speaks smoothly 
and readily 

Glint, to peep. 

Glinted, peeped. 

Glin tin, peeping. 

Gloamin, the twilight. 

Glowr, to stare, to look ; a stare, 
a look. 

Glowr'd, looked, stared. 

Glowran, staring. 

Goavan, looking or staring awk- 
wardly. 

Gowan, the 'flower of the daisy, 
dandelion, hawkweed, &c. 

Gowany, goivany glens, daisied 
dales. 

Gowd,gold. 

Gowff,the game of golf : to strike, 
as the bat does the ball at got/. 

GowfPd, struck. 

Gowk, a cuckoo, a term of con- 
tempt. 

Gowl, to howl. 

Gowling, howling. 

Graff, a grave. 

Grain, or Grane, a groan; to 
groan. 

Jfain'd anA Gauntcd, groaned 
*nd grw i. 



Graining, groaning. 

Graip, a pronged instrument fat 

cleaning stables. 
Graith, accoutrements, furniture, 

dres«. 
Grannie, a grandmother. 
Grape, to grope. 
Grapit, groped. 
Grat, wept, shed tears. 
Great, intimate, familiar. 
Grce, to agree ; to bear the grtf 9 

to be decidedly victor. 
Gree't, agreed 

Greet, to shed tears, to weep. 
Greetin, crying, weeping. 
Grlppet, catched, seized. 
Groat, to get the ivtistU 0/ t%t'< 

groat t to play a losing game. 
Grousome, loatbeome, grim. 
Grozet, a gooseberry. 
Grumph, a grunt ; to greet. 
Grumphie,a sow. 
Grun', grouad. 
Grunstane, a grindstone. 
Gruntla. the phiz, a granting 

noise. 
Grunzie, the mouth. 
Grushie, thick, of thriving 

growth. 
Gude, the Supreme Being ; good. 
Guid, good. 

Guid-morning, good morning. 
Guide'en, good evening. 
Guidman and Guidwife, the mas 

ter and mistress of the house; 

young guidman , a man newly 

married. 
Guidfather, a father-in-law. 
Guidmother, a mother-in-law. 
Gully, or Gullie, a large knife. 
Gumlie, muddy, turbid. 
Gumption, understanding, judg. 

ment. 
Gusty, tasteful. 



GLOSSARY. 



81 



H 

HA', hall. 

Ha' Bible, the great Bible that 
lies in the hall. 

Hae, to have. 

Haen, had. 

UaeX-tfient baet, a petty oath of 
negation; nothing. 

Haffet, the temple, the side of the 
head. 

Haffiins, nearly half, partly. 

Bag, a scar, or gulf in mosses or 
moors; an ugly old woman. 

Haggis, a kind of pudding boiled 
in the stomach of a oow or 
sheep. 

Hain, to spare, to save. 

Hain'd, spared. 

Hairst, harvest. 

Haith, a petty oath. 

Hahers, nonsense, speaking with- 
out thought. 
UP, or Hald, an abiding place. 

Hale, whole, tight, healthy. 

Haly, holy. 

Hallan, a particular partition, 
wall in a cottage, or more pro- 
perly, a seat of turf at the out- 
side. 

Hallowmas, Hallo w-evc, the 31st 
of October. 

Hame, home. 

Hamely, homely, affable. 

Hameward, homeward. 

Han', or Haun', hand. 

Hap, an outer garment, mantle, 
plaid, &e. ; to wrap, to cover, 
to hap. 

Happer, a hopper. 

Happing, hopping. 

Hap-itep-an'-loup, hop, skip, and 
leap. 

Hat-kit, hearkened. 

Ham, very course linen. 

Hash, a fellow that neither knows 
VOL.1. 



how to dress nor act with pro- 
priety. 

Hastit, hastened. 

Haud, to hold. 

Haughs, low-lying, rich lands; 
valleys. 

Haurl, to drag, to peel. 

Haurlin, peeling. 

Haverel, a half-witted person, one 
who talks foolishly. 

Harms, good manners, decorum, 
good sense. 

Hawkie, a cow, properly one with 
a white face. 

Healsome, healthful, wholesome. 

Heapit, heaped. 

Hearse, hoarse. 

Hear't, hear it. 

Heartie,dimin. of heart. 

Heather, heath. 

Hech ! oh ! strange ! 

Hecht, promised to foretel some. 
thing that is to be got or given 
foretolc ; the thing foretold , 
offered. 

Heckle, a board in which are fixed 
a number of sharp pins, used 
in dressing hemp, flax, Sec, 

Heeze, to elevate, t© raise. 

Helim, the rudder or helm. 

Herd, to tend flo:ks; one who 
tends flocks. 

Herrin, a herring. 

Herry, to plunder; most propertv 
to plunder birds' nests. 

Herryment, plundering, devasta- 
tion. 

Hersel, herself; also a herd of 
cattle of any sort. 

Het, hot. 

Heugh, a crag, a coal-pit. 

Hide and Hair, the carcass and 
hide, the whole. 

Hilch, to hobble, to halt. 

Hilchin, halting. 

Hiltie-skiltie. ia rapid e 



GLOSSARY. 



Himset, himself. 

Hiney, hcney. 

Hing,hang. 

Hirple, to walk crasily,to creep. 

Hirplin, walking crazily. 

Hissel, so many cattle as one per- 
son can attend. 

Hlstie,dry, chapt, barren. 

Hitch, a loop, a knot. 

Hizzie, huzzy, a young girl. 

Hoddin, the motion of a sage 
countryman riding on a cart- 
horse; humble. 

Hog-score, a kind of distance- 
Line, in eurling, drawn across 
the rink. 

Hog-shouther, & kind of horse- 
play, by justling with the shoul- 
der ; tojustle. 

Hool, outer-skin or case, a not* 
shell, pease-swad. 

Hoolie, slowly, leisurely. 

Hoolie ! take leisure ! stop ! 

Hoord, a hoard, to hoard. 

Hoordit, hoarded. 

Horn, a spoon made of horn. 

Hornie, one of the many names 
of the devil. 

Host, or Hoast, to cough. 

Hostin, coughing. 

ftosts, coughs. 

HotchM, turned topsy-turvy, 
blended, mixed . 

Houghmagandie, fornication. 

Houp, hope. 

Housie, dimia. of house. 

Hove, to heave, to swell. 

Hov'd, heaved, swelled. 

Howdie, a midwife. 

Howe, hollow ; a hollow or delL 

Howe-backit, sunk in the back, 
spoken of a horse, &c 

Howff, a landlady, a house of re» 
sort. 

Bowk, to dig. 

Boerkit, digged. 



Hewkin, digging. 

Howlet, or Houiet, an owl 

Hoy, to urge. 

Hoy't, urged. 

Hoyse, a pull upwards. 

Hoyte, to amble crazily. 

Hughoc, dimin. of Hugh. 

Hunkers, the ham, the hinder 

part of the thigh. 
Hurcheon, a hedgehog ; a term of 

slight anger. 
Hurdies, the loins, the crupper. 
Hushion, a cushion, stockings 

without feet. 



I», In. 

Icker, an ear of corn. 
Ier-oe, a great grand-child. 
Ilk, or Ilka, earn, every. 
Ill-willie, ill-natured, malicious, 

niggardly. 
Ingine, genius, ingenuity. 
Ingle, fire, fire-place. 
I'se, I shall or will. 
Ither, other, one another. 



JAD,jade; also a familiar term 

among country folk* for a 

giddy young girl. 
Jag, to prick, to pieree. 
Jauk, to dally, to trifle. 
Jaukin, trifling, dallying. 
Jauntie, dimin. of jaunt. 
Jaup, a jerk of water \ to Jerk aa 

agitated water. 
Jaw, coarse raillery } to pour out, 

to shut, to jerk as water. 
Jillet, a JiU, a giddy girl. 
Jimp, to jump ; slender la tfes> 

waist, handsome. 



GLOSSARY. 



83 



Jink, to dodge, to turn a corner j 
a sudden turning,, a comer. 

finker, one who turns quickly, a 
gay sprightly girl, a wag. 

linking, dodging. 

Jirk, a jerk. 

Jo, orjoe, a sweetheart, a favourite. 

Jocteleg, a kind of knife. 

Jouk., to stoop, to how the head. 

Jow, tojow, a verb which includes 
both the swinging motion and 
pealing sound of a large bell. 

Jundie, to Jusile. 



KAE, a flaw. 

Kail, colewort, a kind of broth. 
Kail-runt, the stem of colewort. 
Kain, fowls, &c. paid as rent by 

a farmer. 
Kebars, rafters. 
Kebbuck, a cheese. 
Keek, a peep, to peep. 
Kdftes, a sort of mischievous 

spirit!, said to haunt fords and 

ferries at night, especially in 

storms. 
Ken, to know. 
Ken'd, or Kent, knew. 
Kennin, a small matter. 
Renspeekle, well-known. 
Ket, matted, hairy; a fleece of 

wool. 
Kiaugh, earking anxiety. 
Kilt, to truss up the clothes 
Kimmer, a young girl, a gossip. 
Kin, kindred. 
Kin', kind. 
King's-hood, a certain part of the 

entrails of an ox, &c 
Klntra, country. 

Kintra.cooser, a country stallion. 
Kirn, the harvest supper, a churn* 

terbuca. 



Kirsen, to christen, or baptize, 
Kist, a chest, a shop-counter. 
Kitchen, any thing that is eaten 

with bread, to serve for soup, 

gravy, &c. 
Kith, kindred. 

Kittle, to tickle, ticklish, likely. 
Kittlin, a young cat. 
KiufUle, to cuddle. 
Kiuttiin, cuddling. 
Knaggie, like knags, or points of 

rocks. 
Knappin-nammer, a hammer fc* 

breaking stones. 
Knowe, a small round hillock. 
Knurl, a dwarf. 
Kye, cows. 

Kyle, a district of Ayrshire. 
Kyte, the belly. 
Kythe, to discover, to shew one* 

self. 



LADDIE, dimin. of lad. 
Laggen, the angle between the 

side and bottom of a wooden 

dish. 
Laigh, low. 
Lairing, wading and sinking In 

snow, mud, dec. 
Laith, loath. 

Laithfu*, bashful,sheepish,modest. 
Lalland, a native of the Lowlands 

of Scotland. 
Lallans, Scottish dialect, 
Lambie, dimin. of lamb. 
Lampit, a kind of shell-fist ' r 
Lan', land, estate. 
Lane, lone ; my lane, thy lane, 

&c. myself alone, thy self aione 

&c. 
Lonely, lonely. 
Lang, long ; to think long, to km* 

to weary. ' • 

r i 



84 



GLOSSARY. 



Lap, did leap. 

Lave, the rest, the remainder, 

the others. 
Laverock, the lark. 
Lawin, shot, reckoning, bill. 
Lawlan, lowland. 
Lea, pasture, ground unploughcd. 
Lea'e, to leave. 
Leal, loyal, true, faithfuL 
Lea-rig, grassy ridge. 
Lear, pronounced lare, learning. 
Lee-lang, long-live. 
Leesome, pleasant. 
Leeze me, a phrase of congratula- 
tory endearment : I am happy 
in thee, or proud of thee. 
Leister, a three-pronged dart for 
striking fish. 

Leugh, did laugh. 

Leuk, a look; to look. 

Libbet, gelded. 

Lie'n, lying. 

Lift, sky. 

Lightly, sneeringly ; to sneer at. 

Lilt, a ballad, a tune ; to sing. 

Limmer, a kept mistress, a strum- 
pet. 

Limp't, limped, hobbled. 

Link, to trip along. 

Linkin, tripping. 

Linn, a water-fall, a precipice. 

Lint, flax ; lint i' tbs bill, flax 
in flower. 

Lintwhite, a linnet. 

Lippen'd, trusted, put confidence 
in. 

Loan, or Loanin, the place of 
milking. 

teof, the palm of the hand. 

Loot, did let. 

Looves, plural of loof. 

Loan, a fellow, a ragamuffin, a 
woman of easy virtue. 

Loup, jump, leap. 

Lowe, a flame. 

Lawin, flaming. 



Lowrie, abbreviation of licence. 

Lowse, to loose. 

Lows'd, loosed. 

Lug, tbe ear, a handle, 

Lugget, having a handle, 

Luggie, a small wooden ilsh 

with a handle. 
Lum, the chimney. 
Lunch, a large piece of cheese* 

flesh, &c. 
Lunt, a column of smoke ; to 

smoke. 
Luntin, smoking. 
Lyart, of a mixed colour, psr*. 

M. 

MAE, more. 

Mair, more. 

Maist, most, almost. 

Maistly, mostly. 

Mak, to make. 

Makin, making. 

Mailen, a farm. 

Mallie, Molly. 

'Mang, among. 

Manse, the parsonage.bcase, 
where the minister lives. 

Manteele, a mantle. 

Mark, or Merk, an ancient Scot- 
tish silver coin, in value thir- 
teen pence^nd one-third of a 
penny sterling. 

Mark, marks. (This, and several 
other nouns, which in English 
require an j to form the plural, 
are in Scotch, like the word* 
sbeep, deer, the same in bottl 
numbers.) 

Mar's y ear, the year 1715. 

Mashlum, Meslin, mixed corn. 

Mask, to mash, as malt, &c, to 
infuse. 

Maskin-pat, a tea-pot. 

Maukin, a hate. 



GLOSSARY. 



Maun, must. 

Mavis, the thrush. 

Maw, to mow. 

Mawin, mowing. 

Mecre, a mare. 

Meickle, or Meikle, much. 

Melanchclious, mournful. 

Melder, corn, or grain of any 
kind, te»t to the mill to be 
ground. 

Mell, to meddle ; also a mallet for 
pounding barley in a stone 
trough. 

Melvie, to soil with meal. 

Men', to amend, to reform, to 
change from worse to better. 

Mense,gooc manners, decorum. 

Menseless,ill-bred,rude,impudent. 

Messin, a small dog. 

Midden, a dunghill. 

Midden-creels, baskets for holding 
dung. 

Midden-hole i gutter at the bot- 
tom of a d-. yighill. 

Mim, prim, affectedly meek. 

Min', mind, remembrance. 

Mindt, mind it, resolved, intend- 
ing 

Minnie, mother, dam. 

Mirk, dark. 

Mirkest, darkest. 

Misca', to abuse, to C3ll names. 

Misca'd, abused. 

Mislear'd, mischievous, unman- 
nerly. 

Misteuk, mistooe. 

Mitber, a mother. 

Mixtie-maxtie, confusedly mixed. 

Moil, labour. 

Moistify, to moisten. 

Monie, or Mony,inany. 

Moop, to nibble as a sheep. 

Moorlan', of or belonging to moors. 

Morn, the next day, to-morrow. 

Mottie, full of motes, or small 
particles of matter. 



Mou, the mouth. 
Moudiewort, a mole. 
Mousie, dimin. of mouse. 
Muckle, or mickle, great, big, 

much. 
Musie, dimin. of muse. 
Muslin-kail, broth composed sim - 

ply of water, shelled barley, 

and greens. 
Mutchkin, an English pint. 
Mysel, myself. 

N. 

NA, no, not, nor. 

Nae, no, not any. 

Naething, or Naithing, nothing 

Naig, a horse. 

Nane, none. 

Nappy, ale; to be tipsy. 

Natch, to lay hold of violently. 

Neebor, a neighbour. 

Negleckit, neglected. 

Neuk, nook. 

Niest, next in order, or next i.n 

time. 
Ni eve, the fist. 
Nievefu', a handful, a small 

quantity. 
Niffer, an exchange ; to exchange, 

to barter. 
Niger, a negro. 
Nine-tailed-cat, a hangman** 

whip. 
Nit, a nut. 
Norland, of or belonging to the 

north. 
Noiic't, noticed, obsenrec. 
Ncwte, black cattle. 



O', of. 

Ochels, name of mountain*. 

O haith ! faith ! an oatk. 



86 



GLOSSARY. 



Onle,or Ony,any. 
Or, is often used for ere, before. 
Orra, superfluous, unwantea. 
Ot, of it. 

Oaghtlins, in the least degree. 
Ourie, shivering, drooping. 
Oursel, or oursels, ourselves. 
Outlers, cattle not housed. 
Ower, over, too. 
Qwre-hip, a way of fetching a 

blow with the hammer over the 

arm. 

P. 

PACK, intimate, familiar; twelve 

stone of wool. 
Piidel, to paddle, to play in water. 
Painch, the paunch. 
Pai trick, a partridge. 
Pang, to oram. 
Parle, speech. 

Parritch, oatmeal pudding, a well- 
known Scotch dish. 
Pat, did put ; a pot. 
Pattle, or Pettle, a plough-staff. 
Paughty, proud, haughty. 
Pawky, or Tawkie, cunning, sly. 
Pay»L, paid, beat. 
Pech, to fetch the breath short, 

as in asthma. 
Peehan,the crop, the stomach. 
Peelin, peeling. 
Pet, a domesticated sheep, a great 

favourite. 
Pettle, to eherish ; a plough-staff. 
Philibegs, short petticoats worn 

by Highlandmen. 
Phraise, fair speeches, flattery j 

to flatter, to wheeze. 
Fhraisin, flattery. 
Pibrock, a Highland war-«ong 

adapted to the bagpipe. 
Pickle, a small quantity. 
Pine, pain, uneasiness. 
Pit, to put. 



Plaoad, a public proclamation. 

Plack, an old. Scotch coin, the 
third part of a Scotch penny, 
twelve of which make an Eng- 
lish penny. 

Packless, pennylesa, without 
money. 

Plaid, an outer loose garment. 

Piatie, dimin. of plate. 

Pleugh, or Plew, a plougu. 

Pliskie, a trick, a mischief. 

Pock, a bag ; a small sack. 

Poind, to seize on cattle, or take 
the goods, as the laws of Scot, 
land allow for rent. 

Poortith, poverty or indigence. 

Pou, to pull. 

Pouch, a pocket. 

Fouchie, dimin. of pouch. 

Pouk, to pluck. 

Poase, to push, to peaetiate. 

Poussie, a hare, a rat. 

Pout, a poult, a chicfc. 

Pou't, did pull. 

Pouther,or Powther, powde?. 

Pouthery, like powder. 

Pow, the head, the skulL. 

Pownie, a little horse. 

Preen, a pin, a pointed short piece 
of wire. 

Prent, print. 

Prie, to taste. 

Prie'd, tasted. 

Prief, proof. 

Prig, to cheapen, to dispute. 

Priggin, cheapening. 

Primsie, demure, precise. 

Prepone, to lay down, t» pro. 
pose. 

Provost, the first magistrate of a 
royal borough, answering to 
Lord Mayor in England. 

Proveses, plural of Provost. 

Pund, pound, pounds. 

Pyle,* pjfle «' caff, a single grain 
of ehaff. 



GLOSSARY. 



87 



QUAK, to quake. 
<^at, to quit. 

<Juey, a cow from one to two years 
old. 



EAGWEED, herb ragwort. 

Raible, to rattle nonsense, to talk 
foolishly. 

Hair, to roar. 

Raize, ft> madden, to inflame. 

Ram-feezl'd, fatigued, over- 
spread. 

Rara-stam, thoughtless, forward. 

Randie, turbulent, irregular, un- 
settled. 

Ran tin, merry, cheerful, jovial. 

Raploch, properly a coarse cloth, 
but used as an adnoun for 
coarse. 

Rarely, excellently, very well. 

Rash, a rush. 

Rash -buss, a bush of rushes. 

Ratan, a throb, a pulsation. 

Ratton,a rat. 

Raucle, rash, stoat, fearless. 

Raught, reached. 

Raw, a row. 

Rax, to stretdh. 

Rax'd, stretched, levied. 

Ream, ©ream; to cream. 

Reamin, brimful, frothing. 

Reave, rove. 

Reck, to heed. 

Rede, counsel ; to counsel. 

Red-wat-shod, walking in blood 
over the shoe-tops. 

Red-wun, stark mad. 

Ree, half-drunk, fuddled. 

Reek, smoke, to smoke. 

Rceklin, smoking. 

Reekit, smoked smoky. 



Remead, remedy, alternative. 

Requite, requited. 

Rest, to stand restive. 

Restit, stooo restivu, stunted* 
withered, 

Restricked, restricted. 

Rew, repent. 

Rief, or Reef, plenty. 

Rief-randies, sturdy beggars. 

Rig, a ridge. 

Rin, to run, to melt. 

Rink, the course of the 6tone* 
a term in curling on ice. 

Rinnin, running. 

Ripp,ahandfulofunthreshed corn. 

Riskit, made a noise like the 
tearing of roots. 

Rockin , a term derived from those 
primitive times, when neigh- 
bours met alternately at one 
another's houses to spend the 
evening : the females, that the? 
might enjoy the gossip without 
the imputation of idleness, 
brought their rocks or distaffs 
with them. 

Rood, stands likewise for the 
plural, roods. 

Roon, a shred. 

Roose, to praise, to commend ; 
applause. 

Roun', round, in the circle of 
neighbourhood. 

Roupet, hoarse, as with a coM. 

Routhie, plentiful. 

Row, to roll, to wrap. 

Row't rolled, wrapped. 

Rowte, to low, to bellow. 

Rowth, ot Routb, plcnt/. 

Rowtin, lowing. 

Rozet, rosin. 

Rung, a cudgel. 

Runkled, wiinklod. 

Runt, the stem of cotewurt ot 
cabbage. 



88 



Ruth j a Tomsa'} name j the book 
so called : sorrow. 



SAE, so. 

Saft, soft. 

Sair, to serve ; a tore. 

Sairly, or sairlie, sorely. 

Sairt, served. 

Sark, a shirt. 

Sarkit, provided in shirts. 

Saugh, the willow. 

Saul, soul. 

Saumont, salmon. 

Saunt, a saint. 

Saut, salt. 

Saw, to sow. 

6a win, sowing. 

Sax, six. 

Scaith, to damage, to injure j in- 
jury. 

S^ar, to scare ; a 6car. 

Scaud, 10 scald. 

Stauld, to scold- 

Scaur, apt to be scared. 

Scawl, a scold. 

Scone, a kind of bread. 

Sconner, a loathing; to loathe. 

Scraich, to scream as a hen, par- 
tridge, &c. 

•creed, to tear ; a rent. 

Scriev e , to glide swiftly along. 

S*rievin, gleesomly, swiftly. 

fcrimp, to scant. 

Scrimpet , did scant, scanty. 

See'd, did see 

Seizin, seizing. 

Sel, self ; a body's sel, one*s- self 
alone. 

Sell't, did sell 

Sen', to send. 

Sen't, I, he, or she sent, or did 
send, scud it. 



GLOSSAFT. 



Servan», servant. 

Session, an inferior spiritual court, 
of the kirk of Scotland, con- 
sisting of an assembly of elders, 
who sit in judgment, and pro- 
nounce sentence on Christian 
delinquents. 

Settlin, settling; to get a settlin, 
to be frighted into quietness. 

Sets, sets off, goes away. 

Shackl'd, distorted, deformed- 

Shaird, a shred, a shard. 

Shangan, u stick cleft at one end 
for putting the tail of a dog, 
fltc. into, by way of mischief, 
or to frighten him away. 

Shave, a trick, any thing done 
to cheat Jocosely, or to di- 
vert. 

Shaver, a humorous wag, a barber. 

Shavie, dimin. of shave. 

Shaw, to shew ; a small wood in a 
hollow plaoe. 

Shearer, a reaper, one employed 
in cutting down corn. 

Sheen, bright, shining. 

Sheep-shaak ; to think one's self 
nae sbecp-sbanky to be con- 
ceited. 

Sherra-moor, Sheriff-moor, the 
field where the famous battle 
of that name was fought in the 
rebellion of 1 71 5. 

Sheugh, a ditch, a trench, . 
sluice. 

Shiel, a shed. 

Shill, shriU. 

Shog,ashock,apushoffatonesi 

Shool, a shovel. 

Shoon, shoes. 

Shore, to offer, to give, to 
threaten. 

Shor'd, offered. 

Shouther, the shoulder. 

Sic, such. 

Sicker, sure, steady. 



GLOSSARY. 



89 



1 Sidelins, sidelong, slanting. 
Siller, silver, money. 
Simmer, a summer. 
' Singet, singed, scorcbed,despicable. 
' Sin, a son. 
Sin*, since. 
Sinny, sunny. 
Sintync, since. 
Skaith. See Scaith. 
Skellum, a worthless fellow. 
Skelp, to strike, to slap ; to walk 

with a smart tripping step ; a 

smart stroke. 
Skelpi-limmer, a technical term 

in female scolding. 
Skclpin, Stapping, walking; eager, 

warm, 
fkiegh, or Skeigh, proud, nice, 

high-mettled. 
Skinklin, a small portion. 
Skirl, to shriek, to cry shrilly. 
Skirling, shrieking, crying. 
Skirl't, shrieked. 
Sklent, slant; to run aslant, to 

deviate from truth. 
Sklented, ran, or hit, in an ob- 
lique direction. 
Skreigh, a scream ; to scream, 
^kyrin, shining, making a great 

show. 
Sfcyte, force, violence. 
Slade, did slide. 
Slae, a sloe. 

Slap, a gate, a breach in a fence. 
Slaw, slow. 
Slee, sly. 
Sleest, slyest. 

Sleekit, sleek, sly, cunning. 
Snddery, slippery. 
Slype, to fall over, as a wet furrow 

fjfcm the plough. 
Slypet, fell. 
Sma», small. 
Smeddum, dust, powder, mettle 

sense. 
Srwddy, a smithy. 



Smoor, to smother. 

SmoorM, smothered. 

Smoutie, smutty, obscene, ugly. 

Smytrie, a numerous collection of 

small individuals. 
Snaking, the champing of a dog's 
teeth when he aims at his prey. 
Snapper, stumble. 
Snash, abuse, Billingsgate. 
Snaw, snow ; to snow. 
Snaw-broo, melted snow. 
Snawie, snowie. 
Sneck, latch of a door. 
Sned, to lop, to cut off. 
Sneeshin, snuff. 
Sneeshin-mill, a snuff-box. 
Snell, bitter, biting. 
Snick-drawing, trick-contriving. 
Snick, the latchet of a door. 
Snool, one whose spirit is broken 
with oppressive slavery; to 
submit tamely, to sneak, to 
oppress. 
Snoove, to go smoothly and con 

stantly, to sneak. 
Snowk, to scent or snuff, as a dog . 

horse, &c. 
Snowkit, scented, snuffed. 
Sodger, a soldier. 
Sonsie, having sweet engaging 

looks, lucky, jolly. 
Soom, to swim. 
Sooth, truth, a petty oath. 
Sough, a sigh, a sound, dying o* 

the ear. 
Souple, flexible, swift. 
Souter, a shoemaker. 
Sowens, a dish made of oatmeal, 
the seeds of oatmeal soured, 
&c. boiled up till they make an 
agreeable pudding. 
Sowp, a spoonful, a small quantity. 
Sowth, to try over a tune with a 

low whistle. 
Sowther, solder ; to solder, is 
cement. 



90 



GLOSSARY. 



Spae, to prophesy, to divine. 

Spairge, to dash, to soil, ?.= with 
mire. 

ipaul, a limb. 

Spavie, the spavin. 

Spaviet, having the spavin. 

Speat, or Spate, a sweeping tor- 
rent, after rain or thaw. 

Speei, to climb. 

Speet, to spit, to thrust through. 

Spence, the country parlour. 

Spier, to ask, to inquire. 

Spi^r't, inquired. 

Splatter, a splatter : to splutter. 

Spleuehan, a tobacco-pouch. 

Splore, a frolic, a noise, a riot. 

Sprattle,tc scramble. 

Spreckled, spotted, speckled, clam- 
bered. 

Spring, a quick sir in music, a 
Scottish reel. 

Sprit, a tough-rooted plant, some- 
thing like rushes. 

Sprfttie, full of sprits- 
Spunk, fire- mettle, wit. 

Spunkie, mettlesome ; fiery ; tei'l- 
o'-iuispy or ignis fatuus . 

Spurtle, a stick used in making 
oatmeal-pudding, or porridge, 
a notable Scotch dish. 

Squad, a crew, a party. 

Squatter, to flutter In water, as a 
wild duck, &c. 

Squattle, to sprawl, to straggle. 

Squeel, a scream, a screech; to 
scream. 

Stacher, to stagger. 

Stack, a rick of corn, hay, &e. 

Staggie, dimin. of stag. 

Stalwart, strong, stout. 

Stan', to stand. 

Stan't, did stand. 

Stane, a stone. 

Star.i, Hd stink : a pool of «t*Od« 
mz water ; 

St&p, stop. 



Stark, stout. 

Startle, to run « ea'tle stung by 

the gad-fly. 

Stunkin, stalking, walking with a 
stately step. 

Staumrel, a blockhead, hatt. 
witted. 

Staw, did steal ; to surfeit. 

Stecb, to cram the belly. 

Stechin, cramming. 

Steek, to shut ; a stitch. 

Steer, to molest, to stir. 

Steeve, ftrn>£ compacted. 

Stell, a still. 

Sten, to rear as a horse. 

Stcn't, reared. 

Stents, tribute, dues of any kind. 

Stey, steep. 

Steyest, steepest. 

Stibble, stubble. 

Stibble-rig, the reaper, in harvest, 
who takes the lead. 

Stick an' stow, totally, alto* 
gether. 

Stilt, a crutch ; to halt, to limp. 

Stimpart, the eighth part of a 
Winchester bushel. 

Stirk, a cow or bullock a year 
eld. 

Stock, a plant or root of colewort, 
cabbage, &c. 

Stockin, stocking; throwing thi 
iiochin} ; when the bride and 
bridegroom are put into bed, 
and the candle out, the former 
throws a stocking at random 
among the company, and the 
person whom it strikes is th 
next that will be married. 

Stcoked, made up in shotks ? 
corn. 

Stoor, sounding ho^/wr, stroig, 
and hoarse. 

Slot, an ox. 

Stoup, or Stowp, a kind of jug, of 
dish with a handle. 



GLOSSARY. 



91 



Stoure, dust, more particularly 

duet in motion. 
Btcwlins, by stealth. 
Stown, stolen. 
Stoyte, stumble. 
8track, did strike. 
Strae, straw ; to die a fair itrae 

death, to die in bed. 
Straik, did strike. 
Btraikit, stroked. 
Strappan, tall and handsome. 
Straught, straight- 
Streek, stretched ; to stretch 
Striddie, to straddle. 
Sroan, to spout, to piss. 
Strunt, spirituous liquor of any 

kind ; to walk sturdily. 
Studdie, an anvil. 
Stumpie, dimin. of stump. 
Stuff, corn or pulse of any kind. 
Sturt, trouble ; to molest. 
Sturtin, frighted. 
Sucker, sugar. 
Sud, should. 
Sugh, the continued rushing noise 

of wind or water. 
Suthroc, southern, an eld name 

for the English nation. 
Swaird, sward. 
Swaird, swelled. 
Swank, stately, jolly. 
8wankie, or Swanker, a tight 

strapping young fellow, or girl 
Swap, an exchange ; to baiter. 
Swarf, swoon. 
Swat, did sweat. 
Swateh, a sample. 
Swats, drink, good ale. 
Sweatin, sweating. 
Sweer, lazy, averse; dead-ruMer^ 
| extremely averse. 
Swoor,swore, did swew. 
Swinge, to beat, to strike, to 

whip. 
Swirl, a curve, an eddying blart, 

or pool, a knot in wood. 



Swirlie, knaggy, full of knots. 

Swith ! get away « 

Swither, to hesitate in choice; an 

irresolute wavering in choice* 
Syne, since, ago, then. 



T. 

TACKETS, a kind of nails for 
driving into the heels of shoe*. 

Tae, a toe ; three-tae'd, having 
three prongs. 

Tairge. to examine ; a target. 

Tak, to take. 

Takin, taking 

Tamtallan, the name of a moun- 
tain. 

Tangle, a sea-weed- * 

Tap, the top. 

Tapetless, headless, foolish. 

Tarrcw, to murmur at one's al- 
lowance. 

Tarrow't, murmured. 

Tarry-breeks, a sailor. 

Tartan, a kind of cloth chequered 
with stripes of various coloure. 

Tauld, or Tald,told. 

Taupie, a foolish thoughtless 
young person. 

Tauted, or Tautie, matted toge- 
ther ; spoken of hair or wool. 

Tawie, that allows itse'lf peace- 
ably to be handled ; spoken cf 
a horse, oow, &c. 

Teat, a small quantity. 

Tedding, spreading after the 
mower. 

Ten-hours'-bite, a slight feed to 
the horses while in the yoke, 
in the forenoon. 

Tent, a field-pulpit, heed na- 
tion ; to take heed, 

Tentie, heedful, cautious, wmej 

Tentlees, heedless. 

Teugn, tough. 



92 



GLOSSARY, 



Thack, thatch ; tback an* rape, 
clothing, necessaries. 

Tftae, these. 

Thairms, small guts, fiddle- 
strings. 

Thankit, thanked. 

Theekit, thatched. 

Thegither, together. 

Themsel, themselves 

Thick, intimate, familiar 

Thieveless, cold, dry, spited ; 
spoken of a person's denies 
nour. 

Thir, these* 

Thirl, to thriU. 

Thirled, thrilled Crated. 

Thole, to suffer, to v.Jeure. 

Thowe, a thaw, to thaw. 

Thowless, slack, lazy. 

Thrang, throng ; a crowd. 

Thrapple, throat, windpipe. 

Thraw, to sprain, to twist, to con- 
tradict. 

Thrawin, twisting s &c. 

Thrawn, sprained, twisted, coa- 
tradicted, contradiction. 

Threap, to maintain by dint of 
assertion. 

Threshin, thrashing. 

Threteen, thirteen. 

Thristle, thistle. 

Through, to go on with, to mak 
out. 

Throuther, pell-mell, confusedly 

Thud, to make a loud intermit 
tent ncise ; a blow producing 
dull heavy sound. 

Thumpit, thumped, 

Thysel, thyself. 

Till't,toit. 

Timmer, timber. 

Timmer-propt, propped with Um- 
ber. 

Tine, to lose. 

Yint, lost j tint the sate, lost the 
way. 



Tinkler, a tinker. 

Tip, a ram. 

Tip pence , twopence. 

Tin, to make a slight noise, ti 
uncover. 

Tirlin, uncovering, 

Tither, the other. 

Tittle, to whisper. 

Tittiin, whispering. 

Tocher, marriage portion. 

Tod, a fox. 

Toddle, to totter, like the walk 01 
a child. 

Toddlin , tottering. 

Toom, empty. 

Toop, a ram. 

Toun, a hamlet, a farm-house. 

Tout, the blast ef a horn or trum- 
pet, to How a horn, &c. 

Tow, a rope. 

Towmond, a twelvemonth. 

Toazie, rough, shaggy. 

Toy, a very old fashion of female 
head-dress. 

Toyte, to totter like old age. 

Trams, shafts. 

Transmugrify'd, transmigrated, 
metamorphosed. 

Trashtrie, trash. 

Trews, trowsers. 

Trickie, full of tricks, playful. 

Trig, spruce, neat. 

Trimly, excellently. 

Trow, to believe. 

Trowth, truth, a petty oath. 

Trysted, appointed ; to tryste, to 
make an appointment. 

Try't, tried. 

Tug, raw bide, of which, in old 
times, plough-traces were fre- 
quently made. 

Tulzie, a quarrel ; to quarrel, ta 
fight. 

Twa, two. 

Twa-three, a few. 

»Twad it would. 



GLOSSARY. 



93 



Twal, twelve ; t<wal-pennieivortb t 
a small quantity, a penny, 
worth. 

Twin, to part. 

Tyke, a dog. 



UNCO, strange, uncouth, very, 
very great, prodigious. 

Uncos, news. 

Unfauld, unfold. 

Unkenn'd, unknown. 

Unsickcr, unsure, unsteady. 

Unskaith'd, undamaged, unhurt. 

Unwecting, unwitting, unknow- 
ing. 

Upo', upon. 

Urchin, a 1 



VAPRTN, vaponriafe bullying, 



V auntie, vain, proud. 

Vera, very. 

Viri, a ring round a column, &c 



WA», wall. 

Wa's, walla, 

Wabstcr, a weave?. 

Wad, would; to bet; a bet* a 

pledge. 
Wadna, would not. 
Wae, woe, sorrowful. 
Waesucks ! or Waes me ! a'as ! O 

the pity ! 
Waft, the cross thread that goes 

from the shuttle through the 

web ; woof. 
Waifu', wailing. 
Wair, to lay out, to expend. 
Wale, choice ; to rhoov*. 



Wal'd, chose, chosen. 

Wailie, ample, large, Jolly ; ate 

an interjection of distress. 
Wame, the belly. 
Wamefou, a belly-fulL 
Wanchancie, unlucky, ill-omen- 
ed, inauspicious. 
Wanrestfu', restless, uneasy. 
Wark, work. 

Wark-lume, a tool to work with. 
Warl, or Warld, world. 
Warlock, a wizard. 
Warly, worldly, eager on amass* 

ing wealth. 
Warran, a warrant ; to warrant. 
Warst, worst. 

Warstl'd, or Warsl'd, wrestlacL 
Wastrie, prodigality. 
Wat, wet; I ivat, I wot, I know. 
Water-brose, brose made of meal 

and water simply, without the 

additions of milk, butter, &c. 
Wattle, a twig, a wand. 
Wauble, to swing, to reel. 
Waught, dftught. 
Waukit, thickened, as fullers &> 

cloth. 
Waukrife, not apt to sleep. 
Waur, worse ; to worst. 
Waur't, worsted. 
Wean, or Weanie, a child. 
Wearie, or Weary ; menie a 

ivearie body, many a different 

person. 
Weason, weasand. 
Weaving the stocking. Sea 

Throwing the stocking, p*gd 

90. 
Wee, little. 

Wee things, little ones. 
Wee bit, a small matter. 
Weel, well. 
Werlfare, welfare. 
Weet, rain, wetnesa. 
Weird, fate. 
We'se, we shall. 



u 



GLOSSARY* 



Wha, who. 

Wkaizie, to wheeze. 

Whalpit, whelped, brought forth. 

Whang, a leathern string, a piece 
of cheese, bread, &c. ; to give 
the strappado. 

Whare, where. 

Whare'er, wherever. 

Whase, whose. 

Whatreck, nevertheless. 

Whaup, the curlew ; a kind of 
water-fowl. 

Wheep, to fly nimbly, to jerk; 
penny -ivheep, small beer. 

Whid, the motion cf a hare, run- 
ning but not frighted ; a lie. 

Whidden, running as a hare or 
coney. 

Whigmeleeries, whims, fancies, 
crotchets. 

Whingin, crying, complaining, 
fretting. 

Whirligigums, useless ornaments, 
trifling appendages. 

Whirrin', whirring ; the sound 
made by the flight of the par- 
tridge, &c. 

Whisht, silence : to }^Ad one'f 
ivbisbt, to be silent. 

Whisk, to sweep, to lash. 

Whisk in, large, sweeping. 

Whiskit, lashed. 

Whisslc, a whistle ; to whistle. 

Whitter, a hearty draught of U 
quor. 

Whan-staue, a whinstone. 

Whyles, whiles, sometimes. 

Wi», with. 

Wick, to strike a stone in an 
oblique direction, a term in 
cutting. 

Wicker, willow, (the smaller 
sort.) 

WMdieful, wrathful, angry, ra- 
ging; one deserving the cal- 



Widrile, struggle, bustle, effort* 

Wiel, a small whirlpool. 

Wifie, a diminutive or endearkig 

term for wife. 
Wilfu', willing, full of wilL 
Willyart, bashful, reserved, timid- 
Wimple, to meander, to run very 

irregularly. 
Wimpl't, meandered. 
Wimplin, waving, meandering. 
Win, to wind, to winnow. 
Win't, winded, as a bottom of 

yarn. 
Win', wind. 
Win's, winds. 
Winna, will not. 
Winnock, a window. 
Winsome, hearty, vaunted, gay' 
Wintle, a staggering motion ; to 

stagger, to reel. 
Winze, an oath. 
Wiss, to wish, to have a strong 

desire. 
W houten, without. 
Witless, simple, easily imposed 

on. 
Wizen'd, hide-bound, dried, 

shrunk. 
Wonner, a wonder, a contemptu- 
ous appellation. 
Wons, dwells, resides. 
Woo', wool. 

Woo, to court, to make love to. 
Woodie, a rope, more properly 

one made of withs or willows ; 

a halter, the gallows. 
Wocer-bab, the garter knotted 

helow the knee with a eouple of 

loops. 
Wordy, worthy. 
Worset, worstead. 
Wow, an exclamation of pleasure 

or wonder. 
Wrack, to tease, to vex. 
Wraith, a spirit, a ghost; an aj*. 

parition exactly UkS ft living 



GLOSSARY. 



95 



person, whoce appearance is 
said to forbode the person's 
I approaching death. 

Wrang, wrong ; to wrong, *o 
injure. 

Wreetb , a drifted heap of snow- 

Writers, attorney's, lawyers. 

Wud-mad, distracted, wild. 

Wunible, a wimble, an instrument 
for boring holes. 

Wyle, beguile. 

Wyliecoat, a flannel vest. 

Wyte, blame } to blame , to ac- 
cuser 



YE; this pronoun is frequently 

used for thou- 
Year, is used both for singular and 



Yearlings, born in the same year, 

coevals. 
Yearns, longs much, desires ear* 

nestly. 
Yell, barren, that gives no milk* 
Yerk, to lash s to strike, to jerk. 
Yerkit, jerked, lashed, struck. 
Yestreen, yesternight, the night 

before. 
Yett, a gate, such as is usually at 

the entrance into a farm-yawl 

or field. 
Yiil, ale. 
Yird, earth. 
Yokin, yoking, a bout* 
Yont, beyond. 
Yoursel', yourself. 
Yowe, an ewe. 
I i/Wie, dimia. of £«ttb 
Yiut.Chrlats&aa. 



POEMS, 



CFIEFLY 



SCOTT1S n. 



Xll FIVE ROOKS. 



PREFACE < 

TO THE FIRST EDITION. 



The following Trifles are not the production of 
the poet who, with all the advantages of learned 
art* and perhaps amid the elegancies and idle- 
nesses of upper life, looks down for a rural theme, 
with an eye to Theocritus or Virgil. To the 
Author of this, these and other celebrated names, 
their countrymen, are, at least in their original 
language, a fountain shut 7tp 9 and a book sealed. 
Unacquainted with the necessary requisites fcr 
commencing poet by rule, lie sings the sentiments 
and manners he felt and saw in himself and his 
rustic compeers around him, in his and their 
native language. Though a rhymer from his 
earliest years, at least from the earliest impulses 
of the softer passions, it was not till very lately 
that the applause, perhaps the partiality, of 
friendship, wakened his vanity so far as to make 

LOFC, c2 




100 PREFACE. 

him think any thing of his worth showing ; and 
none of the following works were composed with 
a view to the press. To amuse himself with the 
little creations of his own fancy, amid the toil 
and fatigues of a laborious life ; to transcribe the 
various feelings, the loves, the griefs, the hopes, 
the fears, in his own breast ; to find some kind 
of counterpoise to the struggles of <i world, always 
an alien scene, a task uncouth to the poetical 
mind— these were his motives for courting the 
Muses, aud in these he found Poetry to be its 
own reward. 

'Now that he appears in the public character 
of an Author, he does it with fear and trembling. 
So dear is fame to xne rnyming tribe, that even 
he, an obscure, nameless Bard, shrinks aghast at 
the thought of being branded as — an impertinent 
blockhead, obtruding his nonsense on the world ; 
*nd, because he can make a shift to jingle a few 
doggrel Scotch rhymes together, looking upon 
himself as a poet of no small consequence forsooth ! 



PREFACE. 101 

" It is an observation of that celebrated poet, 
Shenstone, whose divine elegies do honour to our 
language, our nation, and our species, that " hu- 
mility has depressed many a genius to a her- 
mit, but never raised one to fame !** If any critic 
catches at the word genius, the Author tells him, 
once for all, that he certainly looks upon himself 
as possessed of some poetic abilities, otherwise his 
publishing in the manner he has done, would be a 
manoeuvre below the worst character which, he 
hopes, his worst enemy will ever give him. Bui 
to the genius of a Ramsay, or the glorious dawn, 
ings of the poor unfortunate Fergusson, he, with 
equal unaffected sincerity, declares, that even in 
his highest pnlse of vanity, he has not the most dis- 
tant pretensions. These two justly-admired Scotch 
poets he has often had in his eye in the following 
pieces ; but rather with a view to kindle at theii 
flame, than for servile imitation. 

To his Subscribers, the Author returns his most 
sincere thanks— not the mercenary bow over a 



102 PREFACE, 

counter, but the heart-throbbing gratitude of th* 
Bard, conscious how much lie owes to benevo* 
fence and friendship, for gratifying him, if he de- 
serves it, in that dearest wish of every poetic 
bosom— to be distinguished. He begs his readers, 
particularly tke learned and the polite, who may 
honour him with a perusal, that they will make 
every allowance for education and circumstances 
of life; but if, after a fair, candid, and impartial 
criticism, he shall stand convicted of dnlness and 
nonsense, let nim be done oy as ne would in that 
case do by others — let him be condemned, wito 
out mercy, to contempt and oblivion. 






DEDICATION 

TO THE SECOND EDITION. 



TO THE NOBLEMEN AND GENTLEMEN OF 
THE CALEDONIAN HUNT* 

My Lords and Gentlemen, 

A Scottish Bard 9 proud of the name, and whose 
highest ambition is to sing in his Country's service 
—where shall he so properly look for patronage 
as to the illustrious names of his native Lands 
those who bear the honours and inherit the virtues 
of their Ancestors? The Poetic Genius of my 
Country found me, as the prophetic bard Elijah 
did Elisha — at the plough; and threw her in- 
gpiring mantle over me* She bade me sing the 
h>?es, the joys, the rural scenes and rural pleasures 
of my native soil, in my native tongue : J tuned 



104 DEDICATION. 

my wild, artless notes, as she inspired.— She tvhis* 
pered me to come to this ancient Metropolis oj 
Caledonia, and lay my Songs under your honoured 
protection. 

Though much indebted to your goodness, I do 
not approach you, my lords and gentlemen, in 
wfte usual style of dedication, to thank you for past 
lavours. That path is so hacknied by prostituted 
teaming, that honest rusticity is ashamed of iU 
Nor do I present this address with the venal soul 
if a servile Author, looking for a continuation of 
those favours : I was bred to the Plough, and am 
independent. J come to claim the common Scottish 
name with you, my illustrious countrymen ; and 
to tell the world that I glory in the title. I come 
to congratulate my Country that the blood of her 
ancient heroes still runs uncontaminated ; and 
that from your courage, knowledge, and public 
spirit, she may expect protection, wealth, and l*- 
berty. In the last place, I come to proffer my 
warmest wishes to the great Fountain of honour, 
the Monarch of the universe, for your welfare and 
happiness. 

When you go forth to waken the Echoes, in the 
ancient and favourite amusement of your fort" 



V DEDICATION. 105 

fathers, may Pleasure ever be of your party: and 
may Social Joy await your return ! When harassed 
rti courts or camps ivith the jostlings of bad men 
end bad measures, may the honest consciousness 
of injured worth attend your return to your Na- 
tive Seats; and may Domestic Happiness, with a 
smiling welcome, meet you at your gates / May cor- 
ruption shrink at your kindling, indignant glances 
' and may tyranny in the Ruler, and licentiousness in 
the People, equally find you an inexorable foe T 
/ have the honour to be, 
With the sincerest gratitude, and highest respeci 9 
JSly Lords and Gentlemen. 

Your most devoted, humble Servant, 

ROBERT BURNS. 
Edinburgh, 
ApnU, 1787. 



POEMS, 

CHIEFLY 

SCOTTISH. 

BOOK I. 
MORAL, RELIGIOUS, AND PRECEPTIVE. 



THE TWA DOGS, 

A TALE. 

TwA8 in that place o' Scotland's isle, 
That bears the name o' Auld King Coil, 
Upon a bonie day in June, 
When wearing thro* the afternoon, 
Twa dogs that were na thraug at name, 
Forgather'd ance upon a time. 

The first I'll name, they ca'd him €&sar 9 
Was keepit for his Honour's pleasure : 
His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs, 
Show'd he was nane o' Scotland's dogs ; 
But whalpit some place far abroad, 
Where sailors gang to fish for cod. 



10S POEMS. 

His locked, letter'd, braw brass collar, 
Show'd him the gentleman and scholar ; 
But tho' he was o' high degree, 
The fient a pride nae pride had he ; 
But wad hae spent an hour caressin, 
Ev'n wi* a tinkler-gypsey's messin : 
At kirk or market, mill or smiddie, 
Nae tawted tyke, th*>' e'er sae duddie, 
But he wad stan't, as glad to see him, 
And stroan't on stanes an* hillocks wi' him. 

The tither was a ploughman's collie, 
A rhyming, ranting, raving billie, 
Wba for his friend an' comrade had him, 
And in his freaks had Luath ca'd him, 
After some dog in Highland sang,* 
Was made lang syne— Lord knows bow lang. 

He was a gash an* faithful tyke, 
As ever lap a sheugh or dyke. 
His honest, sonsie, baws'nt face, 
Ay gat him friends in ilka place. 
His breast was white, his touzie back 
"Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black ; 
His gawcie tail, wi* upward curl, 
Hung o'er his hurdies wi' a swirl. 

Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither, 
An' unco pa.ck an' thick thegither ; 
Wi' social nose whyles snuff'd and snowkit, 
Whyles mice andmoudieworts they howkit ; 



* Ct*thuliia»J dojin Ossian's glnpd. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH, 109 

Whyles scour'd awa in Jang excursion, 
An' worry'd ither in diversion ; 
Until wi' daffin weary grown, 
Upon a knowe they sat them down, 
And there began a lang digression 
About the Lords o' the Creation. 

CiESAR. 

I've aften wonder'd, honest Luath, 
What sort o' life poor dogs like you have 5 
An* when the gentry's life I saw, 
What way poor bodies liv'd ava. 

Our Laird gets in his racked renta, 
His coals, his kain, and a' bis stents : 
He rises when he likes himsel : 
His flunkies answer at the bell : 
He ca's his coach, he ca's his horse ; 
He draws a bonie silken purse 
As lang's my tail, where, thro' the steeks, 
The yellow letter'd Geordie keeks. 

Frae mom to e'en it's naught but toiling, 
At baking, roasting, frying, boiling ; 
An' tho' the gentry first are stechin, 
Yet ev'n the ha' folk fill their pechan 
Wi' sauce, ragouts, and sic like trashtne. 
That's little short of downright wastne, 
Our Whipper-in, wee blastit wonner, 
Poor worthless elf, it eats a dinner, 
Better than ony tenant man 
His Honour has in a* the Ian' : 
An' what poor cot-folk pit their painch in, 
I own it's past my comprehension. 



tlO POEMS, 

LUATH. 

Tro wth, Caesar, whyles they're fasht echMigb ; 

A cotter howkin in a sheugh, 
Wi' dirty stanes biggin a dyke, 
Baring a quarry, and sic like, 
Himself, a wife, he thus sustains, 
A smytrie o' wee duddie weans, 
An' nought but his han' darg, to keep 
Thein right and tight in thack an* rape. 

An' when they meet wi' sair disasters, 
Like loss o' health, or want o' masters, 
Ye maist wad think, a wee touch ianger, 
An* they ma\in starve o' cauld and hunger: 
But, how it comes, I never kenc'd yet, 
They're maistly wonderfu' contented ; 
An' buirdly chiels, and clever hizzies, 
Are bred in sic a way as this is. 

Cabab. 

But then to see how ye're negleckit, 
How huff'd, and cufFd, and disrespeckitf 
L — d, man, our gentry care as little 
For delvers, ditchers, an* sic cattle ; 
They gang as saucy by poor folk, 
As I wad by a stinking brock. 

I've notic'd, on our Laird's court-day, 
An' mony a time my heart's been wae, 
Poor tenant bodies, scant o' cash, 
How they maun thole a factor's sn-ash : 
He'll stamp an' threaten, curse an' swear, 
He'll apprehend them, poind their gear ; 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. Ill 

While they maun stan', wi' aspect humble ; 
An* hear it a*, an* fear an' tremble ? 

I see how folk live that hae riches ; 
But surely poor folk maun be wretches ! 

LtJATH. 

They're nae sae wretched's anewad think; 
Tho' constantly on poortith's brink : 
They're sae accustom'd wi' the sight, 
The view o't gies them little fright. 

Then chance an' fortune are sae guided, 
They're ay in less or rnair provided ; 
An' tho' fatigu'd wi' close employment, 
A blink o' rest's a sweet enjoyment. 

Tire dearest comfort o' their lives, 
Their grushie weans an' faithfu' wives ; 
The prattling things are just their pride, 
That sweetens a ? their fire-side. 

An* whyles twalpennie-worth o' nappie 
Can make the bodies unco happy ; * 
They lay aside their private cares. 
To mind the kirk and state affairs : 
They'll talk o' patronage and priests, 
Wi' kindling fury in their breasts, 
Or tell what new taxation's comin, 
An' ferlie at the folk in Lon'on. 

As bleak-fac'd Hallowmas returns, 
They get the jovial, ranting kirns, 
When rural life, o' every station. 
Unite in common recreation : , v 



112 POEMS, 

Love blinks, Wit slaps, and social Mirth, 
Forgets there's Care upo' the earth. 

That merry day the year begins, 
They bar the door on frosty winds ; 
The nappy reeks wi' mantlfag ream, 
An' sheds a heart-inspiring steam ; 
The luntin pipe, an' sneeshin mill, 
Are handed round wi* right guid will ; 
The cantie auld folks crackin crouse, 
The young anes rantin thro' the house—* 
My heart has been sae fain to see them, 
That I for joy hae barkit wi* them. 

Still it's owre true that ye hae said, 
Sic game is now owre aften play'd. 
There's monie a creditable stock 
O' decent, honest, fawsont folk, 
Are riven out baith root and branch, 
Some rascal's pridefu' greed to quench, 
Wha thinks to knit himsel the faster 
In favour wi' some gentle master, 
Wha, aiblins thrang a-parliamentin, 
For Britain's guid his saul indentin— 

Cjesar. 

Haith, lad, ye little ken about it ; 
For Britain's guid ! guid faith ! I doubt it. 
Say rather, gaun as Premiers lead him, 
An' saying aye or no's they bid him : 
At operas an' plays parading, 
Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading ; 
Or, may be, in a frolie daft, 
To Hague or Calais takes a waft, 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 113 

To make a tour, an' tak a whirl, 
1 To learn ton ton an' see the woil\ 

There, at Vienna or Versailles, 
He rives his father's auld entails ; ' 
Or by Madrid he takes the rout, 
To thrum guitars, and fecht wi' nowt ; 
Or down Italian vista startles, 
Wh-re-hunting among groves o' myrtles : 
Then bouses drumly German water, 
To mak himsel look fair and fatter, 
An* clear the consequential sorrows, 
Love-gifts of Carnival signoras; 
For Britain's guid ! for her destruction ! 
Wi' dissipation, feud, an' faction. 

Luath. 
Hech man ! dear sirs i is that the gate 
They waste saemony a braw estate ! 
Are we sae foughten an' harass'd 
For gear to gang that gate at last ! 

O would they stay aback frae courts, 
An' please themselves wi' countra sports, 
It wad for ev'ry ane be better, 
The Laird, the Tenant, an' the Cotter ! 
For thae frank, rantin, ramblin billies, 
Fient haet o' them's ill-hearted fellows ! 
Except for breakin o' their timmcr, 
Or speakin lightly o' their limmer, 
Or shootin o' a hare or moor-cock, 
The ne'er a bit they're ill to poor folk. 

But will you tell me, Master C/esar, 
Sure great folk's life's a life o* pleasure f 



1 ll POEMS, 

Nae cauld or hunger e'er can steer them, 
The vera thought o't need na fear them. 

CAESAR. 

L — d, man, where ye but whyles whare I am, 
The gentles ye wad ne'er envy 'em. 

It's true, they need na starve or sweat, 
Thro' winter's cauld, or simmer's heat; 
They've nae sair wark to craze their banes, 
An' fill auld age wi' grips an' granes : 
But human bodies are sic fools, 
For a' their colleges and schools, 
That when nae real ills perplex them, 
They make enow themsels to vex them, 
An* ay the less they hae to sturt them, 
In like proportion less will hurt them 
A country fellow at the plough, 
His acres till'd, he's right enough ; 
A country girl at her wheel, 
Herdizzen's done, she's unco weel : 
But Gentlemen, an' Ladies warst, 
Wi' ev'ndown want o' wark are curst* 
They loiter, lounging, lank, an' lazy ; 
Tho' deil haet ails them, yet uneasy ; 
Their days insipid, dull, an' tasteless ; 
Their nights unquiet, lang, and restless : 
An' e'en their sports, their balls, an' races, 
Their galloping thro' public places. 
There's sic parade, sic pomp, an' art, 
The joy can scarcely reach the heart, 
The men cast out in party matches, 
Then sowther a* in deep debauches j 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 115 

Ae night they're mad wi' drink an* wh-ring, 
Niest day their life is past enduring. 
The Ladies arm-in-arm in clusters, 
As great and gracious a* as sisters ; 
But hear their absent thoughts o' ither, 
They're a* run deils an' jades thegither. 
Whyles, o'er the wee bit cup an' platie, 
They sip the scandal potion pretty ; 
Or lee-lang nights, wi' crabbit leuks 
Pore owre the devil's pictured beuks ; 
Stake on a chance a farmer's stackyard, 
An' cheat like ony unhang'd blackguard. 

There's some exception, man an' woman 
But this is gentry's life in common. 

By this, the sun was out o' sight, 
An' darker gloaming brought the night ; 
The bum-clock humm'd \vi' lazy drone ; 
The kye stood rowtin i' the loan : 
When up they gat, and shook their lugs, 
Rejoic'd they were na men but dogs i 
An* each took aff his several way, 
Resolv'd to meet some ither daj. 



1 16 frOEMSj 

THE BRIGS OF AYR, 
A POEM. 

Inscribed to J. B***'*****, Esq. Ayr, 

The simple Bard, rough at the rustic plough^ 
Learning his tuneful trade from ev'ry bough ; 
The chanting linnet, or the mellow thrush, 
Hailing the setting sun, sweet, in the green thorfi 

bush ; 
The soaring lark, the perching red breast shrill, 
Or deep-ton'd plovers, grey, wild-whistling o'er 

the hill ; 
Shall he, nurst in the Peasant's lowly shed > 
To hardy Independence bravely bred, 
By early Poverty to hardship steel'd, 
And train'd to arms in stern Misfortune's field ; 
Shall he be guilty of their hireling crimes, 
The servile, mercenary Swiss of rhymes ? 
Or labour hard the panegyric close, 
With all the venal soul of dedicating Prose ? 
No ! though his artless strains he rudely sings, 
And throws his hand uneouthly o'er the strings, 
He glows with all the spirit of the Bard, 
Fame, honest fame, his great, his dear reward! 
Still, if some patron's gen'rous care he trace, 
Skill'd in the secret, to bestow with grace ; 
When B********* befriends his humble name, 
And hands the rustic stranger up to fame, 
With heart-felt throes his grateful bosom swells, 
The godlike bliss, to give, alone excels. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 11/ 

*Twas when the stacks get on their winter-hap, 
And thack and rape secure the toil-worn crap ; 
Potatoe-bings are snugged up frae skaith 
Of coming Winter's biting, frosty breath ; 
The bees, rejoicing o'er their summer toils, 
Unnnmber'd buds, an* flowers' delicious spoils, 
Seal'd up with frugal care in massive waxen piles, 
Are doom'd by man, that tyrant o'er the weak, 
The death o' devils smoor'd wi' brimstone reek; 
The thundering guns are heard on ev'ry side, 
'The wounded coveys, reeling, scatter wide; 
The feather'd field-mates, bound by Nature's tie, 
Sires, mothers, children, in one carnage lie : 
(What warm, poetic heart, but inly bleeds, 
And execrates man's savage, ruthless deeds !) 
Nae mair the flow'r in field or meadow springs ; 
Nae mair the grove with airy concert rings, 
Except perhaps the Robin's whistling glee, 
Proud o' the height o' some bit half- lung tree 
The hoary morns precede the sunny days, 
Mild, calm, serene, wide spreads the noon 

tide blaze, 
While thick the gossamour waves wanton in 

the rays. 

Twas in that season, when a simple Bard, 
! Unknown and poor, simplicity's reward ; 
Ae night, within the ancient burgh of Ayr, 
1 By whim inspir'd, or haply press'd wi* care$ 
! He left his bed, and took his wayward route, 
And down by Simpson's* whecl'd the left about ; 
(Whether impell'd by all-directing Fate, 
witness what I after shall narrate ; 






To 



• A noted tavern jji tfcs Auid Srig $&4» 



118 POEMS, 

Or whether, rapt in meditation high, 
He wander'd out he knew not where nor why :) 
The drowsy Dungeon-chtk* had nuinber'd two, 
And Wallace Toa-'r had sworn the fact was true : 
The tide-swoln Firth, with sullen-sounding roar, 
Through the still night dash'd hoarse along the shore; 
All else was hush'd as Nature's closed e'e ; 
The silent moon shone high o'er tow'rand tree: 
The chilly frost, beneath the silver beam, 
Crept, gently-crusting, o'er the glittering stream*-** 

When, lo ! on either hand the list'ning Bard, 
The clanging sugh of whistling wings he heard-; 
Two dusky forms dart thro* the midnight air, 
Swift as the Gost drives on the wheeling hare j 
Ane on th' Auld Brig his airy shape uprears, 
The ither flutters o'er the rising piers : 
Our warlock Rhymer instantly descry'd 
The Sprites that owre the Brigs of Ayr preside. 
(That bards are second-sighted is nae joke, 
And ken the lingo o' the sp'ritual folk ; 
Fays, Spunkies, Kelpies, a', they can explain them. 
And ev'n the vera deils they brawly ken them.) 
Auld Brig appear'd of ancient Pictish race, 
The vera wrinkles Gothic in his face : 
He seem'd as he wi' time had warstl'd lang, 
Yet teughly doure, he bade an unco bang. 
New Brig was btiskit in a braw new coat, 
That lie, at Lotion, frae ane Adams, got; 
Iii's hand five taper staves'as smooth's a bead, 
"Wi* virls and whirlygigums at the head. 
— » — ' ■ ' ■» " ■ ■■■ • 

♦ The two steeples. 
f The goa-hawk, or falcon. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 119 

The Goth was stalking round with anxious search, 
Spying the time-worn flaws in ev'ry arch j 
It chane'd his new-come neebor took his e'e, 
And e'en a vex'd and angry heart had he ! 
Wi' thieveless sneer to see his modish mien, 
He, down the water, gies him this guideen :— 

Auld Brig. 

I doubt na, frien', ye'll think ye're nae sheep- 
shank, 
A nee ye were streekit o'er frae bank to bank ! 
But gin ye be a brig as auld as me, 
Tho' faith that day, I doubt ye 11 never see ; 
There'll be, if that date come, I'll wad a boddle, 
Some fewer whigmeleeries in your noddle. 

New Brig. 

Auld Vandal, ye but show your little mense, 
Just much aoout it wi' your scanty sense ; 
**v^ill your poor, narrow foot-path of a street, 
Where twa wheel-barrows tremble when they meet 
Your ruin'd, formless bulk, o 1 stanp an' lime, 
Compare wi' bonie Brigs o' modern time ? 
There's men o* taste would take the Duckat stream*, 
Tho' they should cast the very sark and swim, 
Ere they would £rate their feelings wi* the view 
Of sic an ugly, gothic hulk as you. 

Auld Brio. 

Conceited gowk ! puff'd up wi* windy pride! 
This mony a year I've stood the flood an' tide; 

* A aoted ford just abore the Auld Brfa 



120 POEMS, 

And tho* wi' crasy eild I'm sail forfaiin, 

I'll be a Brig, when ye're a shapeless cairn ! 

As yet ye little ken about the matter, 

But twa-three winters will inform ye better, 

When heavy, dark, continued a'-day rains, 

Wi' deepening deluges o'erflow the plains ; 

When from the hills where springs the brawling 

Coil, 
Or stately Lvgar's mossy fountains boil, 
Or where ins Greenock winds his moorland course, 
Or haunted Garpal* draws his feeble source, 
Arous'd by blurring wiuds an' spotting thowes, 
In mony a torrent down his sua broo rowes ; 
While crashing ice, borne on the roaring speat, 
Sweeps dams, an' mills, an' brigs, a' to the gate; 
And from Glenbuck*, down to the Ratton-key^ 
Auld Ayr is just one lengthen'd, tumbling sea ; 
Then down ye'll hurl — deil nor ye never rise ! 
And dash the gumlie jaups up to the pouring skies; 
A lesson sadly teaching, to your cost, 
That Architecture's noble art is lost ! 

( l New Brig. 

Fine Architecture ! trowth, I needs must say't o't ! 
The L — d be thaukit that we've tint the gate o't 
Gaunt, ghastly, ghaist-alliiring edifices, 
Hanging with threu firing jut, like precipices ; 
O'er-archiug, mouldy, gloom-inspiring coves, 
Supporting roofs fantastic, stony groves ; 
— . . . 

* The banks of Garpal Water is one of the few places in the west 
of Scotland, where those far.cr-scaring beings, known by to« nirue 
of Gbaiii:, still continue pertinaciously to inhabit. 

t Tne source of the river Ayr. 

\ A tauU landing place above Us large key. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 121 

Windows and doors, in nameless sculpture diest, 
With order, symmetry, or taste, unblest ; 
Forms like some bedlam-statuary's dream, 
The craz'd creations of misguided whim ; 
Forms might be worshipp'd on the bended knee, 
And still the second di eg d command be free, 
Their likeness is not found on eartb, in air, or sea. 
Mansions that would disgrace the building taste 
Of any mason reptile, bird or beast} 
Fit only for a doited Monkish race, 
Or frosty maids, forsworn the dear embrace, 
Or Cuifs of latter times, wha held the notion 
That sullen gloom was sterling, true devotion ; 
Fancies that our guid Burgh denies protection, 
And soon may they expire, uubless'd with resur- 
rection ! 

Auld Brig. 
O ye, my dear-remember'd, ancient yealings, 
Were ye but here to share my wounded feelings ! 
Ye worthy Proveses, an' inony a Bailie, 
Wha in the paths of righteousness did toil ay ; 
Ye dainty Deacons, and ye douce Conveeners, 
To whom our moderns are but causey-cleaners ; 
Ye godly Councils wha have bless'd this town j 
Ye godly Brethren of the sacred gown, 
Wha meekly gae your hurdles to the smiters ; 
And (what would now be strange) ye Godh 

Writers ; 
A' ye douce folk I've borne aboon the broo, 
Were ye but here, what would ye say or do ? 
How would your spirits groan in deep vexation. 
To see each melancholy alteration j 



122 "rofixMi, 

And agonizing, curse the time and place 
When ye begat the base, degen'rale race! 
Nae langer Rev'rend Men, their country's glory ? 
In plain braid Scots hold forth a plain braid story ; 
Nae langer thrifty Citizens, an' douce, 
Meet owre a pint, or in the Council-house ; 
But staumrel, corky-headed, graceless gentry, 
The herryment and ruin of the country ; 
Men, three parts made by Tailors and by Barbers, 
Wha waste your weel hain'd gear, oa d— d ne& 
Brigs and Harbours ! 

New Brig. 
&ow hand yon there ! for faith ye' ve said enough 
And muckle mair that ye can make to through, 
As for your Priesthood, I shall say but iittle, 
Corbies, and Clergy, are a shot right kittle ; 
But under favour o' your langer beard, 
Abuse o' magistrates might weel be spar'd ; 
To liken them to your auld-warld squad, 
I must needs say, comparisons are odd. 
In Ayr, Wag-wits nae mair can hae a handle 
To mouth ' a Citizen,' a term o* scandal : 
Nae mair the Council waddles down the street, 
In all the pomp of ignorant conceit ; 
Men wha grew wise priggiu owre hops an' raising 
Or gather' d lib'ral views in Bonds and Seisins. 
If haply Knowledge, on a random tramp, 
Had shar'd them with a glimmer of his lamp, 
And would to Common-sense, for once be tray 'd 

them, 
Plain, dun Stupidity stept kindly in to aid \hem* 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 123 

What farther clishmaclaver might been said, 
What bloody wars, if Sprites had blood to shed 
No man can tell ; but all before tiieir sight, 
A fairy train appear'd in order bright : 
Adown the glittering stream they featly dane'd ^ 
Bright to the moon their various dresses glane'd : 
They footed o'er the wat'ry glass so neat, 
The infant ice scarce beat beneath their feet : 
While arts of Minstrelsy among them rung, 
And soul-ennobling Bards heroic ditties sung. 
O had M'Lauc/t/au*, thairm-inspiring sage, 
Been there to hear this heavenly band engage, 
When through his dear Strathspeys they bore with 

Highland rage ; 
Or when they struck old Scotia's melting airs, 
The lover's raptur'd joys or bleeding cares ; 
How would his Highland lug been nobler rir'd 
And ev'n his matchless hand with finer touch in 

spir'd ? 
No guess could tell what instrument appear'd, 
But all the soul of Music's self was heard ; 
Harmonious concert rung in every part, 
While simple melody pour'd moving on the heart. 

The Genius of the Stream in front appears > 
A venerable Chief advane'd in years ; 
His hoary head with water-lilies erown'd,. 
His manly leg with garter tangle bound, 
Next came the loveliest pair in all the ring, 
Sweet female Beauty hand in hand with Spring ; 
Then erown'd with flow'ry hay, came Rural Joy, 
Anil Summer, with his fervid-beaming eye ; 



• A w^tJiusurii psriormer °f Scctualx rouac oa Ue violia. 



124 POEMS, 

All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn, 

Led yellow Autumn wreath'd with nodding corn^ 

Then Winter's time-bleach'd locks did hoary show, 

By Hospitality with cloudless brow. 

Next follow'd Courage with his martial stride, i 

From where the Feal wild-woody coverts hide ; * 

Benevolence, with mild, benignant air, 

A female form*, came from the tow'rs of Stair / 

Learning and Worth in equal measures trode 

From simple Catrine, their long-lov'd abode ; 

Last, white-rob'd Peace, crown'd with a hazel 

wreath, 
To rustic Agriculture did bequeath 
The broken iron instruments of Death ; 
At sight of whom our sprites forgat their kindling 

wrath. 



THE VISION. 

DUAN FlRSTt. 

The sun had clos'd the winter day, 
The curlers quat their roaring play, 
An'*ljunger'dmaukin ta'en her way 

To kail-yards green, 
While faithless snaws ilk step betray 

Whar she has been. 



• The Poet here alludes to a Mrs. Stewart, who was then in j 
•ion of Stair. She afterwards removed to Afton-iodge, on the banks oi 
the Afton, a stream which he subsequently celebrated in a *ong en- 
titled " Afton Water.'' — Ed. 

f Duan, a term of Ossian's for the difFerent divisions of a digresjjv* 
poem. See his Cctb-Loda, vol. ii,of Macpherson's translation. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 1 25 

The thresher's weary flingin-tree 
The lee-lang day had tired me ; 
And whan the day had clo^'d his e'e ? 

Far i' the west, 
Ben i' the speuce, right pensivelie, 

I gaed to rest. 

There, lanely, by the ingle-cheek, 
I sat and ey'd the spewing reek, 
That fill'd, wi' hoast-provoking smeek, 

The auld clay-biggiu ; 
An' heard the restless rattons squeak 
About the riggin. 

All in this mottie, misty clime, 
I backward mus'd on wasted time, 
How I had spent my yonthfV prime, 

An' done nae- thing, 
But stringin blethers up in rhyme, 

For fools to sing. 

Had I to gnid advice but harkit, 
I might, by this, hae led a market, 
Or strutted in a bank an* ciarkit 

My cash-account : 
While here, half-mad, half fed, half-sarkit, 
Is a' th' amount. 

I started, mutt'ring, blockhead ! coof f 
And heav'd on high my waukit loof, 
To swear by a* you starry roof, 

Or some rash aith, 
That I, henceforth, would be rhyme proof 
Till my last breath— 



• 



126 POEMS, 

When click ! the string the snick did draw $ 
And jee! the door gaed to the wa' ; 
An' by my ingle-lowe I saw, 

Now bleezin bright^ 
A tight, outlandish Hizzie, braw, 

Come full in sight. 

Ye need na doubt, I held my whisht ; 
The infant aith, half-form'd, was crusht ; 
I glow'rd as eerie's I'd been duslit 

In some wild glen ; 
When sweet, like modest Worth, she blush tj 

And stepped ben. 

Green, slender, leaf-clad hotty-boufbs- 
Were twisted, gracefn*, round her brows ; 
I took her for some Scottish Muse, 

By that same token; 
An* come to stop those reckless vows, 

Wou'd soon been broken. 

A " hair-brain'd sentimental trac$/ 
Was strongly marked in her face; 
A wildy-witty, rustic grace 

Shone full upon her; 
Her eye, ev'n turn'd on empty spacr\ 

Beam'd keen with Honour. 

Dowaflow'd her robe, a tartan sheen, 
Till half a leg was scrimply seen ; 
And such a leg ! my bonie Jean 

Could only peer it; 
Sae stranght, sae taper, tight, and clean, 

Nane else came near it. 



CHIEFlA r SCOTTISH. 12^ 

H«t Mantle large, of greenish hue, 
My gazing wonder chiefly drew ; 
Deep lights and shades, bold-mingling, threw 

A lustre grand ; 
And seem'd, to my astonish'd view, 
A well- known land. 

Here, rivers in the sea were lest ; 
There, mountains to the skies were tost; 
Here, tumbling billows mark'd the coast, 

With surging foam - 3 
There distant shone Art's lofty boast, 
v The lordly dome. 

w Here> Doon pour'd down his far-fetch'd fkxkfo j 
There, well-fed Iruine stately thuds ; 
Auld hermit Ayr staw thro* his woods, 

On to the shore ; 
And many a lesser torrent scuds-; 
t With seeming roar. 

f Low, in a sandy valley spread, 
An ancient Borough rear'd her head ; 
Still, as in Scottish story read, 

She boasts a Race, 
To ev'ry nobler virtue bred, 

And polish' d grace. 

By stately tow'r, or palace fair, 
Or niins pendent in the air, 
Bold stems of heroes, here and there* 

I could discern ; 
Some seem'd to muse, some seem'd to dare 9 

With feature stern* 



« 



128 POEMS, 

My heart did glowing transport feel, 
To see a Race* heroic wheel, 
And brandish round the deep-dyd steel 

In sturdy blows ; 
While back-recoiling seem'd to reel 
Their Suthron foes. 

His Country's Saviourt, mark him well; 
Bold Richardt on's*, heroic swell; 
The chief on Sark§, who glorious fell, 

In high command ; 
And He whom ruthless Fates expel 

His native land. 

There, were a scepter'd Pictish shade f| 
Stalk'd round his ashes lowly laid, 
I mark'd a martial race, poiirtray'd 

In colours strong; 
Bold, soldier-featur'd, undismay'd 

They strode along. 



• The Wallace*, 
t William Wallace. 

f Adam Wallace, of Richardton, cousin to the immortal preserver of 

Scottish Independence. 

$ Wallace, laird of Craigie, who was eecond in command, onoer 
Douglas, earl of Ormond, at the famous battle on the banks of Sark, 
fought anno 14.48. That glorious victory was principally owing to the 
Judicious conduct and intrepid v?.lour of the gallant laird of Craigie, who 
died of his wounds after the action. 

(} Coilus, king of the Picts, from whom the district of Kyle is said to 
take its name, lies Luried, as tradition says, near the family-seat cf the 
Montgomeries of Coll's-ficld, where hi* Durial-place is still showa. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 129 

Thro* many a wild, romantic grove* 
Near many a hermit-fancy'dcove, 
(Fit haunts for Friendship or tor Love) 

In musing mood, 
An aged Judge, I saw him rove, 

Dispensing good. 



With deep-struck reverential awef 
The learned Sire and Stm I saw, 
To Nature's God and Nature's law 

They gave their lore, 
This, all its source and end to draw, 
That, to adore, 

Brydone's brave ward J I well could spy, 
Beueath old Scotia s smiling eye ; 
Who call'd on Fame, low standing by, 

To hand him on, 
Where many a Patriot-name on high, 

And hero shone. 



* Barskimming, the seat of the Ists Lord fustice C'.crk. 

f Catrine, the seat of the late doctor, s&d present pr^tessar Steurstt, 

* Colonel Fullarton* 



130 POEM8, 



Duan Second 



With musing-deep, astonish* d stare, 
I vievv'd the heav'nly-seeming Fair ; 
A whisp'ring throb did witness bear, 

Of kindred sweety 
When, with an elder sister's air, 

She did me greet. 

"All hail! my own inspired Bard! 
In me thy native muse regard ! 
Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard! 

Thus poorly low ! 
I come to give thee such reward 

As we bestow. 

(i Know, the great Genius of thia land 
Has many a light, aerial band, 
Who, all beneath his high command, 

Harmoniously, 
As arts or arms they understand, 

Their labours ply 

•' They Scotia's race among them share $ 
Some fire the Soldier on to dare ; 
Some rouse the Patriot up to bare 

Corruption's heart ;' 
Some teach the Bard, a darling care, j 
The tuneful art. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH, 131 

te 'Mong swelling floods of reeking gore, 
They ardent, kindling spirits pour ; 
Or, 'mid the venal Senate's roar, 

They, sightless, stand, 
To mend the honest Patriot-lore, 

And grace the hand, 

n And when the Bard, or hoary Sage, 
Charm or instruct the future age, 
They bind the wild poetic rage 

In energy, 
Or point the inconclusive page 

Full on the eye. 

11 Hence Fullarton, the brave and young i 
Hence Dempster's zeal-inspired tongue ; 
Hence sweet harmonious Beattie sung 

His * Minstrel lays' ; 
Or tore, with noble ardour stung, 

The Sceptic s bays. 

u To lower orders are assign'd 
The humbler ranks of human-kind, 
The lustic Bard, the lab'ring Hind, 

The Artisan ; 
All chnse, as various they're inclined, 

The various man. 

" When yellow waves the heavy grain 
The threatning storm some strongly n 
Some teach to meliorate the plain 

With tillage-skill ; 
And some instruct the shepherd-train 
Blythe o'er the hill. 
12 



132 POEMS, 

" Some hint the lover's harmless wile ; 
Some grace the maiden's artless smile j 
Some soothe the lab'rer's weary toil, 
For humble gains, 
And make his cottage-scenes beguile 
His cares and pains. 

" Some, bounded to a district-space, 
Explore at large man's infant race, 
To mark the embryotic trace 

Of rustic B<ird$ 
And careful note each op'ning grace, 

A guide and guard. 

i4 Of these am I — Coila my name ; 
And this district as mine I claim, 
Where once the Campbells, chiefs of fao^ 

Held ruling pow'r : 
I mark'd thy embryo tuneful flame, 
Thy natal hour. 

" With future hope, I oft would ga/e, 
Fond, on thy little early way*, 
Ihy rudely caroll'd, chiming phrase, 

In uncouth rhymes, 
Fir'd at the simple artless lays 

Of other times. 

" I saw thee seek the sounding shore, 
Delighted with the dashing roar ; 
Or when the North his fleecy store 

Drove thro' the sky, 
\ saw grim Nature's visage hoar, 

Struck thy young eye. 



tHlEFLY SCOTTISH. 133 

a Or when the deep green-mantled earth 
Warm cherish'd ev'ry flow'ret's birth, 
And joy and music pouring forth 

In ev'ry grove, 
I saw thee eye the gen'ral mirth 

With boundless love. 

" When ripen'd fields, and azure skies, 
Call*d forth the reapers' rustling noise, 
lsaw thee leave their ev'ning joys, 

And lonely stalk, 
To vent thy bosom's swelling rise 

In pensive walk. 

H When youthful love, warm-blushing, 
strong, 
Keen-shivering shot thy nerves along, 
Those accents, grateful to thy tongue, 

Th' adored Name, 
I taught thee how to pour in song, 
To soothe thy dame. 

*' I saw thy pulse's maddening play, 
Wild send thee pleasure's devious way, 
Misled by fancy's meteor ray, 

By passion driven ; 
But yet the light that led astray 

Was light from heaven. 

<c I taught thy manners-painting strain*^ 
The loves, the ways of simple swains, 
Till now, o'er all my wide domains 
Thy fame extends: 
And some, the pride of Coilas plains, 
Became thy friends. 



134 POEMS, 

a Thou canst not learn, nor can I show 
To paint with Thomson's landscape glow j 
Or waste the bosom-melting throe, 

With Shenst one's art ; 
Or pour, with Gray, the moving flow 

Warm on the heart. 

" Yet all beneath th* unrivall'd rose, 
The lowly daisy sweetly blows ; 
Tho' large the forests' monarch throws 

Kis army shade, 
Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows, 

Adown the giade. 

" Then never murmur nor repine; 
Strive in thy humble sphere to shine ; 
And trust me, not Potosi's mine, 

Nor Kings' regard, 
Can give a bliss o'ersnatching thine, 
A rustic Bard. 

" To give my counsels all in one, 
Thy tuneful flame still careful fan ; 
Preserve the Dignity of Man, 

With soul erect ; 
And trust, the Universal Plan 

Will all protect. 

sc And wear thou this /" — she solemn said 
And bound the Holly round my head : 
The polish'd leaves, and berries red, 

Did rustling play; 
And, like a passing thought, shefletJ 

Jn light away. 






CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 135 

THE 

COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 

INSCRIBED TO R. AIKEN, ESQ, 

Let not ambition mock their useful toil, 

Their homely joys and destiny obscure ) 
Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, 
The short but eimplc annals of the poor. 

GRAY. 

My lov'd, my honoured, much respected friend i 

No mercenary Bard his homage pays ; 
With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end, 
My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and 
praise : 
To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays, 

The lowly train in life's sequester'd scene ; 
The native feelings strong, the guileless ways ; 
What Aiken in a cottage would have been ; 
Ah ! tho* his own worth unknown, far happier th^re 
I ween ! 

November chill blaws lond wi" angry sugh ; 

The short'nmg winter-day is near a close ; 
The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh ; 

The black'ning trains o* craws to their repose ; 
The toil-worn Cotter frae his labour goes, 

This night his weekly moil is at an end, 
Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, 

Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, 
And weary, o'er the moor, his course does home- 
ward bend. 



136 pofc&fs. 

At length his lonely cot appears in view, 

Beneath the shelter of an aged tree; 
Th' expectant wee-things, todlin, stacher thro* 

To meet their Dad, wi' flichterin noise au'gte«i 
His wee, bit ingle, blinkin bonily, 

His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie wifies smile, 
The lisping infant prattling on his knee. 

Does a' his weary carking cares beguile, 
An* makes him quite forget his labour aud his toil. 

Belyve the elder bairns come drappin in, 

At service out,amang the farmers roun' ; 
Some ca* the pleugh, some herd, some teatie ria 

A cannie errand to a neebor town: 
Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown, 

In yonthfu' bloom, love sparkling in here'e, 
Comes name, perhaps, to shew abraw new gowfij 

Or deposite her sair-.worn penny fee, 
To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. 

"Wi* joy nnfeign'd, brothers and sisters meet, 

An' each for other's weelfare kindly spiers s 
The social hours, swift- wing'd unnoticd fleet ; 

Each tells the micos that he sees or hears ; 
The parents partial, eye their hopeful years ; 

Anticipation forward points the view. 
The mother , wi' her needle an' her sheers, 

Gars aula" claes look amaist as weel's the new 
Tie father mixes a' wi' admonition due. 

Their master's an' their mistress's command, 
The younkers a' are warned to obey ; 

* An' mind their labours wt' an eydent hand, 
An' ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jank or play ; 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 137 

An* O • be sure to fear the Lord alway ! 
An' mind your duty, duly, mom an' night ! 
' .Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray, 
1 Implore his counsel and assisting might'. 
They never sought in vain, that sought the Lord 
1 aright!" 

But hark ! a rap comes gently to the door ; 
Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same, 
Tells how a neebor lad cam e'er the moor, 

To do some errands, and convoy her name. 
The wily mother sees the conscious flame 
1 Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek ; 
With heart-struck anxious care,inquires his name, 
While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak ; 
Weel pleas'd the mother hears, it's nae wild,\vorth- 
1 less rake. 

"Wi* kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben ; 

A strappan youth ; he takes the mother's eye ; 
Blythe Jenny sees the visit's no ill ta'en ; 

The father cracks of horses, plenghs, an kye. 
The youngster's artless heart o'ei flows wi' joy, 

But blate and laithfu', scarce can weel behave ; 
The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy 
What makes the youth sae bashfu' an* sae 
grave ; 
iVeel pleas'd to think her bairn's respected like 
the lave. 

O happy love ! where love like this is found I 
O heart-felt raptures ! bliss beyond compare I 

I've paced much this weary, mortal round. 
And sage experience bids me this declare-* 



138 POEMS, 

u If Heaven a draught of heav'nly pleasure spare, 
One cordial in this melancholy vale, 
'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair, 
In others' arms breathe out the tender tale, 
Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the ev'n- 
ing gale." 

Is there, in human form, that bears a heart — 

A wretch ! a villain ! lest to love and truth ! 
That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art, 

Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth? 
Curse on his perjur'd arts ! dissembling smooth ! 

Are honour, virtue, conscience, all exil'd ? 
Is there no pity, no relenting ruth, 

Points to the parents fondling o'er their child? 
Then paints the ruin'd maid, and their distraction 
wild ! 

But now the supper crowns their simple board 

The halesome j)a?Tifc/i, chief o' Scotia's food : 
The soupe their only Hawkie does afford, 

That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her cud ; 
The dame brings forth in complimental mood, 

To ffrace the lad, her weelhain'd kebbuck 
fell. 
An' aft he's press'd, an' aft he ca's it good ; 

The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell, 
How 'twas a towmond add, sin* lint was i' the bell 

The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face, 
They, round the in^le, form a circle wide ; 

The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace. 
The big Ha -Bible, ance his father's pride : 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 139 

His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, 

His lyart haffets wearin thin an' bare ; 
Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, 
He wales a portion with judicious care; 
And " Let us worship God P* he says, with solemn 
air. 



They chant their artless notes in simple guise ; 

They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim: 
Perhaps Dundee's wild warbling measures rise, 

Or plaintive Martyrs, worthy of the name : 
Or noble Elgin beets the heav'nward flame, 

The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays ; 
Compar'd with these, Italian trills are tame; 

The tickled ears no heart-felt raptures raise $ 
Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise. 



The priest-like father reads the sacred page, 

How Abram was the friend of God on high ; 
Or, Moses bade eternal warfare wage 

With Amalek's ungracious progeny : 
Or, how the royal Bard did groaning lie 

Beneath the stroke of heaven's avenging ire ; 
Or, Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry : 

Or, rapt Isaialis wild seraphic fire ; 
Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre. 



Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme, 
How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed , 

How He, who bore in heav'n the second name, 
Had not on earth whereon to lay his head : 



140 POEMS, 

Kow His first followers and servants sped ; 

The precepts sage they wrote to many a land ; 
How he, who lone in Patmos banished, 
Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand ; 
And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronouncd by 
Heaven's command. 

Then kneeling down, to heaven's eternal King, 

The saint, the father 9 and the husband prays : 
Hope " springs exulting on triumphant wing*/ 

That thus they all shall meet in future days : 
There, ever bask in uncreated rays, 

No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear, 
Together hymning their Creator s praise, 

In such society, yet still more dear ; 
While circling time moves round in an eternal 
sphere. 

Compar'd with this, how poor Religion's prick, 

In all the pomp of method, and of art, 
When men display to congregations wide, 

Devotion's ev'ry grace, except the heart ! 
The Pow'r, incens'd, the pageant will desert, 

The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole ; 
But haply, in some cottage far apart, 

May hear, well pleas'd, the language of the soul ; 
And in his book of life the inmates poor enroL 

Then homeward all take off their sev'ral way; 

The youngling cottagers retire to rest : 
The parent-pair tlieir secret homage pay, 

And proffer up to Heaven the warm request, 



* Pope's Wind»r Fame 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 141 

That He who stills the raven's clam'rous nest, 
And decks the lily fair in flowry pride, 

Would, in the way his wisdom sees the best, 
For them and for their little ones provide ; 
Btrt chiefly intheir hearts with grace divine preside. 

From scenes like these old Scotia s grandeur 
springs, 
That makes her lov'd at home, rever'd abroad •. 
Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, 

" An honest man's the noblest work of God :" 
And certes, in fair virtue's heav'nly road, 

The cottage leaves the palace far behind : 
What is a lordling's pomp ? a cumbrous load, 
Disguising oft the wretch of human kind, 
Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refin'd ! 

O Scotia ! my dear, my native soil ! 

For whom my warmest wish to heaven is sent 1 
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil, 

Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet 
content ! 
And O ! may Heaven their simple lives prevent 

From luxury's contagion, weak and vile ! 
Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, 
A virtuous populace may rise the while, 
And stand a wall of fire around their much-lov'd 
Isle. 

O Thou ! who pour'd the patriotic tide 
That streamed thro' Wallace's undaunted 
heart ; 

Who dar'd to, nobly, stem tyrannic pride, 
Or nobly die, the second glorious pan, 



142 POEMS, 

(The patriot's God. peculiarly thou art, 

His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward!) 
O never, never, Scotia's realm desert . 
But still the patriot and the patriot bard, 
In bright succession raise, her ornament and 
guard! 

— 

VERSES 

WRITTEN IN FRIArVcARSE HERMITAGE, 
ON NITH-SIDE. 

Thou whom chance may hither lead. 
Be thou clad in russet weed, 
Be thou deck'd in silken stole, 
Grave these councils on thy soul :— 

Life is but a day at most, 
Sprung from night, in darkness lost ; 
Hope not sunshine ev'ry hour, 
Fear not clouds will always low'r. 

As youth and love, with sprightly dance, 
Beneath thy morning-star advance, 
Pleasure with her syren air 
May delude the thoughtless pair ; 
Let prudence bless enjoyment's cup, 
Then raptur'd sip, and sip it up. 

As thy day grows warm and high, 
Life's meridian flaming nigh. 
Dost thou spurn the humble vale? 
Life's proud summits wouldst thou scale? 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH, 143 

Check thy climbing step, elate, 

Evils lurk in felon wait ; 

Dangers, eagle-pinion'd, bold, 

Soar around each cliffy hold, 

While cheerful peace, with linnet song, 

Chants the lowly dells among. 

As the shades of ev'ning close, 
Beck'ning thee to long repose ; 
As life itself becomes disease, 
Seek the chimney-neuk of ease : 
There, ruminate with sober thought, 
On all thou'st seen, and heard, and wrought ; 
And teach the sportive younkers round, 
Saws of experience, sage and sound. 
Say, Man's true, genuine estimate, 
The grand criterion of his fate # 
Is not, Art thou high or low ? 
Did thy fortune ebb or flow ? 
Did many talents gild thy span ? 
Or frugal nature grudge thee one ? 
Tell them, and press it on their mind, 
As thou thyself must shortly find, 
The smile or frown of awful Heav'n, 
To virtue or to vice is giv'n. 
Say, to be just, and kind, and wise, 
There solid self-enjoyment lies ; 
That foolish, selfish, faithless ways, 
Lead to the wretched, vile, and base. 

Thus resign'd and quiet, creep 
To the bed of lasting sleep ; 
Sleep, whence thou shall ne'er awake. 
Night, where dawn shall never break, 



144 



POEMS, 



Till future life, future no more, 
To h^ht and joy the good restore, 
To light and joy unknown before ! 

Stranger, go ! Heav'n be thy guide ! 
Quod the Beadsman of luta-side. 



A PRAYER, 



UNDER THE PRESSURE OF V.OLSNT 
ANGUISH, 

O thou, great Being ! what ihos art 

.Surpasses me to know ; 
Yet sure I am, that known to Thee 

Are all Thy works below. 

Thy creature here before Thee stands, 

All wretched and distress : 
Yet sure those ills that wring my soul 

Obey thy high behest. 

•Sure Thou, Almighty, canst not act 

From cruelty or wrath ! 
O, free my weary eyes from tears, 

Or close them fast in death! 

But if I must afflicted be, 

To suit some wise design ; 
Then man my soul with firm rcso!T«» 

To bear and not rcviiie I 






tCHIEFLV SCOTTISH. 145 



PRAYER 

IN 

THE PROSPECT OF DEATH. 

O thou, unknown, Almighty Cause 

Of all my hope and fear ! 
In whose dread presence, ere an hour, 

Perhaps I must appear ! 

If I have wander'd in those paths 

Of life I ought to shun ; 
As something, loudly, in my breast, 

Remonstrates I have done ; 

Thou know'st that Thou hast formed me 
With passions wild and strong; 

And list'ning to their witching voice 
Has often led me wrong. 

Where human weakness has come short* 

Or frailty stept aside, 
Do Thou, All-good ! for such Thou art, 

In shades of darkness hide. 

f OL. I. £ 



146 POEMS* 

Where with intention I have err'd, 

No other plea I have, 
But, Thou art good; and goodness still 

Delighteth to forgive. 



STANZAS 



THE SAME OCCASION. 



. Why am I loth to leave this earthly scene ? 

Have I so found it full of pleasing charms ? 
Some drops of joy with draughts of ill between ; 
Some gleams of sunshine 'mid renewing 
storms : 
Is it departing pangs my soul alarms? 

Or death's unlovely, dreary, dark abode? 
For guilt, for guilt, my terrors are in arms - 9 
I tremble to approach an angry God, 
And justly smart beneath his sin-avenging rod. 

Fain would I say, " Forgive my foul offence !" 
Fain promise nevermore to disobey; 

But, should my Author health again dispense, 
Again I might desert fair virtue's v,ay j 



CHIEFLY SC01TISH. 14/ 

Again in folly's path might go astray : 

Again exalt the brute and sink the man; 
Then how should I for heavenly mercy pray, 
Who act so counter heavenly mercy's plan? 
Who sin so oft have mourn'd, yet to temptation ran? 

O Thou, great Governor of all below! 

If [ may dare a lifted eye to Thee, 
Thy nod can make the tempest cease to blow 

Or still the tumult of the raging sea : 
With that controlling povv'r assist ev'n me, 

Those headlong, furious passions to confine ; 
For all unfit I feel my powers to be, 

To rule their torrent in th' allowed line ; 
O, aid me with thy help, Omnipotence Divine t 



VERSES, 

IE?T EY THE AUTHOR, AT A REVEREND FRIEND'S EOUSX, 
IN THE ROOM WHERE HE SLEPT. 

O Thou, dread Pow'r, who reign'st above! 

I know Thou wilt me hear ; 
Wheo for this scene of peace and love, 

I make my pray'r sincere. 

The hoary sire — the mortal stroke, 

Long, lonjr, be pleas'd to spare ! 
To bless his little filial flock, 

And show what good men are, 
* 2 



148 POEMS, 

She, who her lovely offspring eyes. 

With tender hopes and fears, 
O bless her with a mother's joys, 

But spare a mother's tears ! 

Their hope, their stay, their darling youth, 
In manhood's dawning blush ; 

Bless him, thou God of love and truth, 
Up to a parent's wish ! 

The beauteous, seraph sister-band, 

With earnest tears I pray, 
Thou know'st the snares on ev'ry hand, 

Guide Thou their steps alway ! 

When soon or late they reach that coast, 
O'er life's rough ocean driv'n, 

May they rejoice, no wand'rer lost, 
A family in heav'n ! 



GRACE BEFORE DINNER. 

O Thou, who kindly dost provide 

For every creature's want! 
We bless thee, God of Nature wide, 

For all thy goodness lent : 






CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. l4r! 

And, if it please thee, heavenly Guide, 

May never worse be sent ; 
But whether granted, or denied, 

Lord, bless us with content ! 
Amen. 



THE 



FIRST PSALM. 

The man, in life wherever plac'd, 

Hath happiness in store, 
Who walks not in the wicked's way, 

Nor learns their guilty lore ! 

Nor from the seat of scornful pride 
Casts forth his eyes abroad, 

But with humility and awe 
Still walks before his God. 

That man shall flourish like the tre*»s 
Which by the streamlets grow; 

The fruitful top is spread on high, 
And firm the root below. 

But he whose blossom buds in guilt, 
Shall to the ground be cast, 

And like the rootless stubble, tost 
Before the sweeping blast. 



150 POEMS, 

For why ? That God, the good adors 
Hatii giv'u them peace and resi. 

But hath decreed that wicked mea 
Shall ne'er be truly blest. 



THE 

FIRST SIX VERSES 

OF 

THE NINETIETH PSALM. 

O Thou, the first, the greatest Friend 

Of all the human race ! 
Whose strong right-hand has ever heea 

Their stay and dwelling-place ! 

Before the mountains heav'd their heads 

Beneath thy forming hand, 
Before this pond'rous globe itself, 

Arose at thy command ; 

That Pow'r which rais'd and still upholds 

This universal frame, 
From countless, unbe^inning time 

Was ever still the same. 

Those mighty periods of years 

Which seem to us so vast, 
Appear no more before Thysu-ht 

Than yesterday that's past. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 151 

Thou giv'st the word : Thy creature, man, 

Is to existence brought : 
Again Thou say'st, " Ye sons of men, 

-Return ye into nought !" 

Thou layest them, with all their cares, 

In everlasting sleep ; 
As with a flood Thou tak'st them off 

With overwhelming sweep. 

They flourish like the morning fiow% 

In beauty's pride array'd ; 
But long ere night cut down it lies 

All withered and deeay'd. 



EPISTLE 

TO 
A YOUNG FRIEND. 

I la.no hae thought, my youthfu* friead, 

A something to have sent you, 
Tho* it should serve nae other end 

Than just a kind memento s 
But how the subject-theme may gang, 

Let time and chance determine ; 
Perhaps it may turn out a sang, 

Verbals turn out a sermon. 



52 POEMS, 

Ye'll try the world soon, my lad, 

And Andrtw dear, believe me, 
Ye'll find mankind an unco squad, 

And muckle they may grieve ye : 
For care and trouble set your thought, 

Ev'n when your end's attained ; 
And a* your views may come to nought, 

When ev'ry nerve is strained. 

I'll no say, men are villains a' ; 

The real, harden'd wicked, 
Wha hae nae check, but human law, 

Are to a few restricked : 
But, och ! mankind are unco weak 

An' little to be trusted ; 
If self the wavering balance shake, 

It's rarely right adjusted ! 

Yet they wha fa' in fortune's strife, 

Their fate we should na censure, 
For still til' important end of life, 

They equally may answer ; 
A man may hae an honest heart, 

Tho' poortith hourly stare him ; 
A man may tak a neebor's part, 

Yet hae nae cash to spare him. 

Ay free, atf han', your story tell, 

When wi' a bosom crony ; 
But still keep something to yoursel 

Ye scarcely tell to ony. 
Conceal yoursel as weel's ye can, 

Frae critical direction : 
But keek thro' ev'ry other man, 

Wi' sharpen'd sly inspection. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 153 

The sacred lowe o' weel-plac'd love, 

Luxuriantly indulge it ; 
But never tempt th' illicit rove, 

Tho' naething should divulge it . 
I wave the quantum o' the sin, 

The hazard of concealing ; 
But, och ! it hardens a' within, 

And petrifies the feeling ! 

To catch dame Fortune's golden smile. 

Assiduous wait upon her ; 
And gather gear by ev'ry wile 

That's justified by honour : 
Not for to hide it in a hedge, 

Nor for a train-attendant ; 
But for the glorious privilege 

Of being independent. 

The fear o' hell's a hangman's whip 
To baud the wretch in order ; 

But where ye feel your honour grip, 
Let ay that be your border 5 

It's slightest touches, instant pauses- 
Debar a* side pretences ; 

And resolutely keep its laws, 
Uncaring consequences. 

The great Creator to revere, 

Must sure become the creatures 
But still the preaching cant forbear, 

And ev'n the rigid feature : 
Yet ne'er with wits profane to range, 

Be complaisance extended ; 
An Atheist's laugh's a poor exchange 

For Deity offended I 



154 POEMS 

When ranting round in pleasure's ring, 

Religion may be blinded ; 
Or if she gie a random sti?ig, 

It may be little minded ; 
But when on life we're tempest-driv'n, 

A conscience but a canker — 
A correspondence fix'd wi' Heav'n ? 

Is sure a noble anchor ! 

Adieu, dear, amiable youth ! 

Your heart can ne'er be wanting : 
May prudence, fortitude, and truth, 

Erect your brow undaunting ! 
In ploughman phrase, " Godsend you 3peed,* 

Still daily to grow wiser: 
And may you better reek the rede. 

Than ever did in* a^isr? i 

May— 27B£. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH 155 

( BOOK IL 

PATHETIC, ELEGIAC, AND DESCRIPTIVE, 

MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN. 

A DIRGE. 

"When cbill November's snrly bla*t 

Made fields and forests bare, 
One ev'ning, as I wandered forth 

Along the banks of Ayr, 
I spy'd a man, whose aged step 

Seem'd weary, worn with care : 
His face was furrow'd o'er with years, 

And hoary was his hair. 

Young stranger, whither wand'rest thou ? 

(Began the rev'rend sage ;) 
Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain, 

Or youthful pleasure's rage? 
Or Imply, prest with cares and woes, 

Too soon thou hast began 
To wander forth, with me, to mourn 

The miseries of man. 



156 POEMS, 

The sun that overhangs yon moors, 

Oat-spreading far and wide, 
Where hundreds labour to support 

A haughty lord ling's pride ; 
I've seen yon weary winter-sun 

Twice forty times return ; 
And ev'ry time has added proofs, 

That man was made to mourn. 



O man ! while in thy early years, 

How prodiiral of time ! 
Mis-spending all thy precious hours, 

Thy glorious youthful prime ! 
Alternate follies take the sway ; 

Licentious passions burn ; 
Which tenfold force gives Nature's law, 

That man was made to mourn. 

Look not alone on youthful prime, 

Or manhood's active might ; 
Man then is useful to his kind, 

Supported is ills right : 
But see him on tiie edjje of life, 

With cart-s and sorrows worn, 
Then age and want, oh ! iT-match'd pair! 

Show man was made to mourn* 



A few seem favourites of Fate, 
In Pleasure's lap carest ; 

Vet, think not all the rich and great 
Are likewise truly blest. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 15? 

But, oh ! what crowds in ev'ry land, 

Are wretched and forlorn ; 
Thro* weary life this lesson learn, 

That man was made to mourn. 

Many and sharp the num'rous ills 

Inwoven with our frame ! 
More pointed still we make ourselves. 

Regret, remorse, and shame ! 
And man, whose heav'n-erected face 

The smiles of love adorn, 
Man's inhumanity to man 

Makes countless thousands mourn! 

See yonder poor, o'erlabour'd wight* 

So abject, mean, and vile, 
Who begs a brother of the earth 

To give him leave to toil ; 
And see his lordly fellow-worm 

The poor petition spurn, 
Unmindful, tho' a weeping wife 

And helpless offspring mourn. 

If T'm design'd yon lordling's slave- 
By Nature's law design'd, 

Why was an independent wish 
E'er planted in my mind f 

If not, why am I subject to 
His cruelty, or scorn ? 

Or why has man the will and pow'r 
To make his fellow mourn ? 

Yet, let not this too much, my son,. 
Disturb thy youthful breast : 



!58 POEMS, 

This partial view of human kind 

Is surely not the last ! 
The poor, oppressed, honest man, 

Had never, sure, been born, 
Had there not been some recompene^ 

To comfort those that mourn ! 

O death ! the poor man's dearest friend I 

The kindest and the best ! 
Welcome the hour my aged limbs 

Are laid with thee at rest ! 
The great, the wealthy, fear thy blew, 

From pomp and pleasure torn 5 
But, oh! a blest relief to those 

That weary-laden assss f 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 159 



WINTER NIGHT. 



Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, 
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm ! 
How shall your houseless heads, and unfed 3idcs, 
Your loopM and window'd raggedness, defend yoo 
From seasons such as these J— — 

SHAKSPEARE. 

When biting Boreas, fell and doure. 
Sharp shivers thro' the leafless bow'r ; 
When Phoebus gies a short-liv'd glow'r 

Far south the lift, 
Dira-dark'ning thro' the flaky show'r, 

Or whirlin drift : 

Ae night the storm the steeples rocked, 
Poor Labour sweet in sleep was locked, 
While burns, wi* snawy wreaths np-chocked, 

Wild-eddying swirl, 
Or thro* the mining outlet hocked, 

Down headlong hurl. 

List'ning, the doors an' winnocks rattle 
I thought me on the ourie cattle, 
Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle 

O' winter war, 
And thro' the drift, deep-lairing sprattle^ 

Ben ath a scar. 



160 POEM^ 

Ilk happing bird, wee, helpless thing, 
That, in tiie merry months o' spring, 
Delighted me to hear thee sing, 

What comes o' thee ? 
Whare wilt thou eow'r thy chitt'ring wing, 
An' close thy e'e? 

Ev'n you on murd'ring errands toil J, 
Lone, from your savage homes exil'd. 
The blood-stain'd roost, and sheep-cot* spoil'd, 

My heart forgets, 
While pitiless the tempest wild 

Sore on yon beats. 

Now Phoebe, in her midnight reign, 
Dark muffled, view'd the dreary plain: 
Still crowding thoughts, a pensive train, 

Rose in my soul, 
When on my ear this plaintive strain, j 
.Slow, solemn, stole — ' 

**Blow, blow, ye winds, with heavier gust! 
And freeze, thou bitter-biting frost! 
Descend, ye chilly, smothering snows! 
Not ail your rage, as now united, shows 
Moie hard unkindness, unrelenting, 
Vengeful malice, un repenting, 
Than heav'n-illumin'd man on brother man bestows. 

"See stern Oppression's iron grip, 
Or mad Ambition's gory hand, 
Sending, like blood-hounds from the slip, 
Woe, want, and murder o'er a land! 

u Ev'n in the peaceful rural vale, 

Truth, weeping, tells the mournful tale, 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 161 

How pamper'd luxury, flatt'ry l>y her side, 
The parasite empoisoning her ear, 
With all the servile wretches in the rear, 
Looks o'er proud property, extended wide ; 
And eyes the simple rustic hind, 

Whose toil upholds the gliit'ring show, 
A creature of another kind, 
Some coarser substance, unrenVd, 
Plac'd for her lordly use thus far, thus vile, below, 

*' Where, where is love's fond, tender throe, 
With lordly honour's lofty brow, 

The powers you proudly own ? 
Is there, beneath love's noble name, 
Can harbour, dark, the selfish aim, 

To bless himself alone ! 

" Mark maiden-inuocence a prey 

To love-pretending snares, 
This boasted honour turns away 
Shunning soft pity's rising sway, 
Regardless of the tears, and unavailing prayers 
Perhaps, this hour, in mis'ry's squalid nest, 
She strains your infant to her joyless breast, 
And with a mother's fears shrinks at the rocking 
blast ! 

•' O ye ! who, sunk in beds of down, 

Feel not a w T aut but what yourselves create, 
Think for a moment on his wretched fate, 
W 7 hom friends and fortune quite disown ! 
Ill-satisfy'd keen nature's clam'rous oalU 

Stretch'd on his straw, he lays himself to sleep, 
While thro' the ragged roof and ehinky wall, 

Chill o'er his slumbers piles the driftyheap l—* 

Vol. I. L 



162 POEMS; 

" Think on the dungeon's grim confine. 
Where guilt and poor misfortune pine I 
Guilt, erring man, relenting view ! 
But shall thy legal rage pursue 
The wretch, already crushed low 
By cruel fortune's undeserved blow? 
Affliction's sons are brothers in distress, 
A brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss !' 

I beard nae mair, for Chanticleer 
Shook otf the pouthery snaw, 

And hail'd the morning with a cheer, 
A cottage-rousing craw. 

But deep this truth impress'd my mind- 
Thro' ail his works abroad, 

The heart, benevolent and kind, 
The most resembles God. 



WINTER. 
A DIRGE. 

The wintry west extends bis blast, 

And hail and rain does biaw ; 
Or, the stormy north sends driving forth 

The blinding sleet and snaw ; 
While tumbling brown, the burn comes down. 

And roars f'rae bank to brae ; 
And bird and bea>t in covert rest, 

And pass the heartless day. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. ±63 

<c The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast*/* 

The joyless winter-day, 
Le» others fear, to me more dear 

Than all the pride of May : 
The tempests howl, it soothes my soul, 

My griefs it seems to join, 
The leafless trees my fancy please, 

Their fate resembles mine ! 

Thou Pow'r Supreme, whose mighty schema 

These woes of mine fulfil, 
Here, firm, I rest, they must be best, 

Because they are Thy Will ! 
Then all I want (O do thou grant 

This one request of mine !) 
Since to enjoy thou dost deny, 

Assist me to resign. 



DESPONDENCY. 

AN ODE. 

Oppress'd with grief, oppress'd with care, 
A burden more than I can bear, 

I sit me down and sigh : 
O Life ! thou art a galling load, 
Along a rough, a weary road, 

To wretches such as I ! 



* Dr. Young, 
L2 



164 POEMS* 

Dim backward as I cast my view, 

What sick'ning scenes appear? 
What sorrows yet may pierce me thru' 
Too justly I may fear ! 
Still caring, despairing, 

Must be my bitter doom ; 

My woes here shall close ne'er, 

But with the closing tomb ■ 

Happy, ye sons of busy life, 
Who, equal to the bustling strife, 

No other view regard ! 
Ev'n when the wished end's deny'd, 
Yet while the busy means are ply*dj 

They bring their own reward : 
Whilst I, a hope-abandon'd wight, 

Unfitted with an aim> 
Meet ev'ry sad returning night, 
And joyless morn the same, 
You, bustling, and justling, 

Forget each grief and pain ; 
I, listless, yet restless, 
Find every prospect vain. 

How blest the Solitary's lot, 
Who, all-forgetting, all-forgot, 

Within his humble cell, 
The cavern wild with tangling roots, 
Sits o'er his newly-gather'd fruits, 

Beside his crystal well ! 
Or, haply, to his ev'ning thought, 

By unfrequented stream, 
The ways of men are distant brought, 

A faint collected dream : 






CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 165 

While praising, and raising 

His thoughts to heav'n on h^«-_ 

As wand'ring, meand'ring, 
He views the solemn sky. 

Then I, no lonely hermit plac'd 
Where never human footstep trac'd, 

Less fit to play the part ; 
The lucky moment to improve, 
And just to stop, and just to move, 

With self-respecting art : 
But ah ! those pleasures, loves, and joys, 

Which I too keenly taste, 
The Solitary can despise, 
Can want, and yet be blest ! 
He needs not, he heeds not, 

Or human love or hate, 
Whilst I here, must cry here, 
At perfidy ingrate ! 

Oh ! enviable, early days, 

When dancing thoughtless pleasure's mase, 

To care, to guilt unknown ! 
How ill exchang'd for riper times, 
To feel the follies, or the crimes, 

Of others, or my own ! 
Ye tiny elves that guiltless sport, 

Like linnets in a bush, 
Ye little know the ills ye court. 
When manhood is your wish ! 
The losses, the crosses. 

That active man engage 
The fears all, the tears z% 
\ Of dim declining ags J j 



166 POEMS, 



TO RUIN. 

All hail ! inexorable lord ! 

At whose destruction-breathing wordj 

The mightiest empires fall ! 
Thy cruel, woe-delighted train. 
The ministers of grief and pair, 

A sullen welcome, all ! 
With stern resolv'd, despairing eye, 

I see each aimed dart ; 
For one has cut my dearest tie, 
And quivers in my heart. 
Then low'ring and pouring, 

The storm no more I dread ; 
Tho' thick'ning and black'ning, 
Round my devoted head. 

And thou, grimpow'r, by life abhorred, 
While life a pleasure can afford, 
Oh ! hear a wretch's pray'r ! 
No more I shrink appall'd, afraid j 
I court, I beg thy friendly aid, 
To close this scene of care ! 
When shall my soul, in silent peace. 

Resign life's joyless day ; 
My weary heart its throbbings cease 
Coldmould'ring in the clay ? 
No fear more, no tear more, 
To stain my lifeless face ; 
Enclasped, and grasped 
Within thy cold embrace ! 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 167 



•LAMENT 

OF 

MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS, 

ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING. 

Now Nature hangs her mantle green 

On every blooming tree, 
And spreads her sheets o' daisies white 

Out o'er the grassy lea ; 
Now Phoebus cheers the crystal streams, 

And glads'the azure skies ; 
But nought can glad the weary wight 

That fast in durance lies. 

Now lav'rocks wake the merry morn, 

Aloft on dewy wing ; 
The merle, in his noontide bow'r, 

Makes woodland echoes ring ; 
The mavis mild wi' many a note, 

Sings drowsy day to rest : 
In love and freedom they rejoice, 

Wi' care nor thrall opprest. 

Now blooms the lily by the bank, 

The primrose down the brae $ 
The hawthorn's budding in the glen, 

And milk-white is the slae : 






l6S POEMS, 

The meanest bind in fair Scotland 

May rove their sweets amang ; 
Bat I, the Queen of a' Scotland, 

Maun lie in prison Strang. 

I was the Queen o* bonie France, 

Where happy I hae been ; 
Fu' lightly raise I in the morn, 

As blythe lay down at e'en : 
And I'm thesov'reign of Scotland, 

And monie a traitor there ; 
Yet here I lie in foreign bands, 

And never-ending care. 

But as for thee, thou false woman, 

My sister and my fae, 
Grim Vengeance, yet, shall whet a sword 

That thro' thy soul shall gae : 
The weeping blood in woman's breast 

Was never known to thee ; 
Nor th' balm that draps on wounds of woe 

Frae woman's pitying e'e. 

My son ! my son ! may kinder stars 

Upon thy fortune shine ; 
And may those pleasures gild thy reign, 

That ne'er wad blink on mine! 
God keep thee frae thy mother's faes, 

Or turn their hearts to thee : 
And where thou meet'st thy mother's friead, 

Remember him for me ! 

O .' soon, to me, may summer-suns 

Nae mair light up the morn! 
Naemair, to me, the autumn winds 

Wave o'er the yellow corn! 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH^ 

And in the narrow house o' death 

Let winter round me rave ; 
And the nextflow'rs that deck the spiiug, 

Bloom on my peaceful gravel 



THE LAMENT, 



OCCASIONED BY THE UNFORTUNATE" ISS2?E OF A 
FRIEND'S AMOUR. 

Alas ! how oft does Goodness wound itself, 
And sweet Affection prove the spring of woe! 

HOME. 

O thou pale orb, that silent shines, 

While care-untroubled mortals sleep ! 
Thousee'st a wretch that inly pines, 

And wanders here to wail and weep ! 
With woe I nightly vigils keep, 

Beneath thy wan unwarming beam 5 
And mourn in lameutation deep, 

How life and love are all a dream* 



I joyless view thy rays adorn "*■ 
The faintly-marked distant hill , 

I joyless view thy trembling horn j 
Reflected in the gurgling rill : " 



1/0 F0EMS, 

My fondly-fluttering heart, be still! 

Thou busy pow'r, Remembrance, cease i 
Ah ! must the agonizing thrill 

For ever bar returning peace ! 

No idly-feign'd poetic pains, 

My sad love-lorn lamentings claim ; 
No shepherd's pipe — Arcadian strains ; 

No fabled tortures, quaint and tame ; 
The plighted faith ; the mutual flame ; 

The oft attested Pow'rs above ; 
The pi'omis'd Father's tender name ; 

These were the pledges of my love ! 

Encircled in her Ciasping arms, 

How have the raptured moments flown ! 
How have I wish'd for fortune's charms, 

For her dear sake, and her's alone ! 
And must I think it ! is she gone, 

My secret heart's exulting boast? 
And does she heedless hear my groan? 

And is she ever, ever lost ? 

Oh ! can she bear so base a heart, 

So lost to honour, lost to truth, 
As from the fondest lover part, 

The plighted husband of her youth! 
Alas! life's path may be unsmooth! 

Her way may lie thro' rough distress J 
Then, who her pangs and pains will sootlie 

Her sorrows share, and make them less? 

Ye winged hours that o'er us past, 
EnrapturM more, the more enjoyed, 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 171 

Your dear remembrance in my breast, 
My fondly-treasnr'd thoughts employ'd. 

That breast how drea*y now, and void, 
For her too scanty once of room ! 

Ev'n ev'ry ray of hope destroy'd, 
And not a wish to gild the gloom ! 

The morn that warns th' approaching day, 

Awakes me up to toil and woe : 
I see the hours in long array, 

That I mast suffer, lingering, slow. 
Full many a pang, and many a throe, 

Keen recollection's direful train, 
Most wring my soul, ere Phoebus, low, 

Shall kiss the distant, western main. 

And when my nightly couch I try, 

Sore-harass'd out with care and grief 
My toil-beat nerves, and tear-worn eye, 

Keep watchirigs with the nightly thief: 
Or if 1 slumber, Fancy, chief, 

Reigns haggard wild, in sore affright: 
Ev'n day, all bitter, brings relief, 

From such a horror-breathing night. 

O ! thou bright queen, who o'er th' expanse 

Now highest reign'sr, with boundless sway ! 
Oft has thy silent-marking glance 

Observ'd us, fondly-wand'ring, stray ! 
,The time, unheeded, sped away, 

While love's luxurious pulse beat high, 
Beneath thy silver gleaming ray, 

To mark the mutual kindling eye. 



]/2 POEMS, 

Oh ! scenes in strong remembrance set ! 

Scenes, never, never, to return ! 
Scenes, if in stupor I forget, 

Again I feel, again I burn ! 
From ev'ry joy and pleasure torn, 

Life's weary vale I'll wander thro' ; 
And hopeless, comfortless, I'll mourn 

A faithless woman's broken vow. 



LAMENT 

^F A MOTHER FOR THE DEATH OF HER SOU, 

Tune — " Finlayston House." 

Fate gave the word, the arrow sped, 
And pierc'd my darling's heart : 

And with him all the joys 'are fled 
Life can to me impart. 

By cruel hands the sapling drops, 

In dust dishonour' d laid : 
So fell the pride of all my hoped, 

My age's future shad: 1 . 

The mother-linnet in the brake 
Bewails her ravish'd young; 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH* 173 

So I, for my lost darling's sake, 
Lament the live-day long. 

Death, oft Fvefear'd thy fatal blow* 

Now, fond I bare my breast, 
O, do thou kindly lay me low 

With him I love, at rest ! 



LAMENT 

FOR JAMES, EARL OF GLENCAIRN. 

The wind blew hollow frae the hills, ■ 

By fits the sun's departing beam 
Look'd on the fading yellow woods 

That wav'd o'er Lugar's winding stream I 
Beneath a craigy steep, a bard, 

Laden with years and meikle pain, 
In loud lament bewail'd his lord, 

Whom death had all untimely ta'en. 

He lean'd him to an ancient aik, 

Whose trunk was mould'riug down with years 
His locks were bleached white wi' time, 

His hoary cheek was wet wi' tears ! 
And as he touch'd his trembling harp, 

And as he tun'd his doleful sang, 
The winds, lamenting thro* their caves, 

To Echo bore the notes alans. 



174 POEMS, 

" Ye scatter'd birds that faintly sing, 

The reliques of the vernal quire ! 
Ye woods that shed on a' the winds 

The honours of the aged year! 
A few short months, and glad and gay, 

Again ye'U charm the ear and e'e j 
But nocht in all revolving time 

Can gladness bring again to me. 



" I am a bending aged tree, 

That long has stood the wind and rain % 
But now has come a cruel blast, 

And my last hald of earth is gane ; 
Nae leaf o' mine shall greet the spring, 

Nae simmer snn exalt my bloom j 
But I maun lie before the storm, 

And ithers plant them in my room. 

M I've seen sae monie changefu* years, 

On earth I am a stranger grown : 
I wander in the ways of men, 

Alike unknowing and unknown : * 

Unheard, unpitied, unreliev'd, 

I bear alane my lade o' care, 
For silent, low, on beds of dust, 

Lie a' that would my sorrows share. 

" And last (the sum of a' my griefs !) 

My noble master lies in clay ; 
Tiie flow'r amang our barons bold, 

His country's pride, his country's stay: 






CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 1/5 

In weary being now I pine, 

For a' the life of life is dead, 
And hope has left my aged ken, 

On forward wing for ever fled. 

* Awake thy last sad voice, my harp ! 

The voice of woe and wild despair! 
Awake, resound thy latest lay, 

Then sleep in silence evermaii! 
And thou, my last, best, only friend, 

That fillest an untimely tomb, 
Accept this tribute from the bard 

Thou brought from fortune's mirkest gloom 

* In poverty's low barren vale, 

Thick mists, obscure, involv'd me round ■ 
Tho' oft I turn'd the wistful eye, 

Nae ray of fame was to be found'. 
Thou found'st me like the morning sun 

That melts the fogs in limpid air, 
The friendless bard and rustic song,, 

Became alike thy fostering care. 



" O ! why has worth so short a date ? 

While villains ripen grey with timef 
Must thou, the noble, gen'rons, great, 

Fall in bold manhood's hardy prime ! 
Why did 1 live to see that day ? 

A day to me so full of woe ! 
O ! had I met the mortal shaft 

Which laid my benefactor low! 



176 POEMS, 

" The bridegroom may forget the brkv. 

Was made his wedded wife yestreen ; 
The monarch may forget the crown 

That on his head an hour has been ; 
The mother may forget the child 

That smiles sae sweetly on her knee; 
But I'll remember thee, Glencairc, 

And a* that thou hast done for me •" 



LINES 

SENT TO SIR JOHN WHITEFOORD, OF 
WHITEFOORD, BART. 

WITH THE FOREGOING POEM, 

Thou, who thy honour as thy God rever'st, 
AVho, save thy mind's reproach, nought earthly 

tdar'sti 
To thee this votive offering I impart, 
The tearful tribute of a broken heart. 
The Friend thou valluetui, I the Patron lov'd : 
His worth, his honour, all the world approv'd. 
We'll mourn tiil we too go as he has gone, 
And tread the dreary path to that dark world 

unknown. 



I 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 1J7 



STRATHALLaN'S lament. 



Thickest night o'erhangmy dwelling! 

Howling tempests o'er me rave I 
Turbid torrents, wintry swelling, 

Still surround my lonely cave ! 

Crystal streamlets gently flowing, 
Busy haunts of base mankind, 

Western breezes softly blowing, 
Suit not my distracted mind. 

In the cause of -right engaged, 
Wrongs injurious to redress, 

Honour's war we strongly waged, 
But the Heavens deny'd success 

Ruin's wheel has driven o'er its, 
Not a hope that dare attend,— 

The wide world is all before us 5 
But a world without a friend? 



Vol. I. M 






1^8 POEMS, 



THE 

CHEVALIER'S LAMENT. 

The small birds rejoice in the green leaves re- 
turning ; 

The murmuring streamlet winds clear thro* the 
vale ; 

The hawthorn trees blow in the dews of the morn- 
ing, 

And wild scatter'd cowslips bedeck the green 
dale : 

But what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair, 
While the lingering moments are number'd by 

care ? 
No flowers gaily springing, nor birds sweetly 

singing, 
Can sooth the sad bosom of joyless despair. 

The deed that I dar'd, could it merit their malice, 

A king and a father to place on his throne ? 
His nght are these lulls, and his right are these 
valleys, 

Where the wild beasts find shelter, but I can 
find none. 

But 'tis not my sufferings, thus wretched, forlorn, 
My brave gallant friends, 'tis your ruin I mourn : 
Your deeds prov'd so loyal in hot bloody trial, 
Alas ! can I make you no sweeter return! 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 1J9 



AUTHOR'S FAREWELL 
to 

his native country, 

Tuhe— " Roslin Castle/' 

The gloomy night is gath'ring fast, 
Loud roars the wild, inconstant blast, 
Yon murky cloud is foul with rain, 
I see it driving o'er the plain ; 
The hunter now has left the moor, 
The scatter'd coveys meet secure, 
While here I wander, prest with care, ' 
i Along the lonely banks of Ayr. 

The Autumn mourns her rip'ning com 
By early Winter's ravage torn ; 
! Across her placid, azure sky, 
She sees the scowling tempests fly : 
Chill runs my blood to hear it rave, 
1 I think upon the stormy wave, 
Where many a danger I must dare, 
Far from the bonie banks of Aijr* 
M 2 



180 POEMS, 

'Tis not the surging billows' roar, 
'Tis not that fatal, deadly shore ; 
Though death in ev'ry shape appear, 
The wretched have no more to fear : 
Rut round my heart the ties are bound, 
That heart transpiercd with many a wound « 
These bleed afresh, those ties T tear, 
To leave the bonie banks of Ayr. 

Farewell, old Collars hills and dales, 
Her heathy moors and winding vales ; 
The scenes were wretched fancy roves, 
Pursuing past, unhappy loves ! 
Farewell, my friends ! farewell, my foes F 
My peace with these, mv love with those— 
The bursting tears my heart Att^iarc, 
Farewell the boaie hanks of - 






CHIEFLY SCOTTISH, IS1 



FAREWELL, TO AYRSHIRE. 



Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure, 
Scenes that former thoughts renew, 

Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure, 
Now a sad and last adieu ! 

Bonie Doon, sae sweet and gloamin, 
Fare thee wee) before I gang ! 

Bonie Doon, whare, early roaming, 
First I weavM the rustic sang ! 

Bowers, adieu, whare Love, decoying, 
First inthrali'd this heart o' mine, 

There the safest sweets enjoying, 
Sweets that Mem'ry ne'er shall tyoe! 

Friends, so near m\ bosom ever, 
Ye hae rendei'd moments dear; 

But, alas ! when fore'd to sever, 
Then the stroke, O how severe! 

Friends \ that parting tear, reserve it, 
Tho' 'tis doubly dear to me ! 

Could I think I did deserve it, 
How much happier would I be 1 

Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure, 
Scenes that former thoughts renew, 

Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure, 
Now a sad and last adieu I 



• POEMS, 

THE 

FAREWELL 

TO 

THE BRETHREN OF ST. JAMES'S LOJDGE, 
TARBOLTON. 

Tune — " Good night, and joy be^wi' you a' f* 

Adieu! a heart-warm fond adieu ! 

Dear brothers of the mystic tye ! 
Ye favour'd, ye enlighten 'd few, 

Companions of my social joy ! 
Tho' I to foreign lands must hie, 

Pursuing fortune's slidd'ry ba', 
With melting heart, and brimful eye, 

I'll mind you still, tho' far awa\ 

Oft have 1 met your social band, 

And spent the cheerful, festive night? 
Oft, honour' d with supreme command, 

Presided o'er the sons of light: 
And by that hieroglyphic bright, 

Which none but craftsmen ever saw ! 
Strong mem'ry on my heart shall write 

Those happy scenes when far awa\ 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 183 

May freedom, harmony, and love, 

Unite you in the grand design, 
Beneath th' omniscient Eye above, 

The glorious Architect divine ! 
That you may keep th* unerring line, 

Still rising by the plummeVs law, 
Till order bright completely shine, 

Shall be my pray'r when far awa'. 

And you, farewell ! whose merits claim, 

Justly, that highest badge to wear ! 
Heav'n bless your honour'd, noble name,. j 

To Masonry and Scotia dear ! 
A last request permit me here, 

When yearly ye assemble a', 
One round, I ask it with a tear, %r ^ 

To him, the Bard thaVsfar awa* 

i " 



FAREWELL TO ELIZA. 

Tune— " Gilderoy." 

From thee, Eliza, I must go, 

And from my native shore ; 
The cruel fates between us throw 

A boundless ocean's roar : 
But boundless oceans, roaring wide, 

Between my love and me, 
They never, never can divide 

My heart and soul from thee j 



184 POEMS, 

Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear, 

The maid that I adore ! 
A boding voice is in mine ear, 

We part to meet no more I 
But the last throb that leaves my heart. 

While death stands victor by, 
That throb, Eliza, is thy part, 

And thine that latest &'vAi ! 



HIGHLAND MARY. 
Tune-" Katharine Ogie." 

Ye banks, and f&aes. and streams around 

The castle o' Montgomery. 
Green be your woods, and fair your lowers J 

Your waters never drumlie ! 
There simmer first unfald her robes, 

And there the langest tarry ; 
For there I took the last fareweel 

O' my sweet Highland Mary. 

How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk f 
. How rich the hawthorn's blossom : 
As underneath their fragrant shade, 

I clasp *d her to my bosom ! 
The golden hours on angel wings, 

Flew o'er me and my dearie ; 
For dear tome, as light and life, 

Was my sweet Highland Mary. 



CKIEFJ Y SCOTTISH. 185 

WV mony a vow, and lock'd embrace. 

Oar parting was fir* tender ; 
And, pledging aft to meet again, 

We tore ourselves asunder ; 
But oh ! fell death's untimely frost, 

That nipt my flower sae early ! 
Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay, 

That wraps my Highland Mary! 

O pale, pale now, those rosy lips, 

I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly I 
And clos'il, for ay, the sparkling glance, 

That dwelt on me sae kindly ! 
And mouldering now in silent dust, 

That heart that lo'ed me dearly' 
But still within my bosom's core, 

Shall live my Highland Mary. 



TO 

MARY IN HEAVEN. 

Thou lingering star, with less'niug ray 

That lov'st to greet the early morn, 
Again thou usher'st in the day 

My Mary from my soul was torn. 
O Mary ! dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of blissful rest? 
Sce'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast 



186 POEMS, 

That sacred hour can I forget, 

Can I forget the hallow'd grove, 
Where by the winding Ayr we met, 

To live one day of parting love ! 
Eternity will not efface, 

Those records dear of transports past; 
Thy image at our last embrace S 

Ah ! little thought we 'twas our last ! 

Ayr gurgling kissed his pebbled shore, 

O'erhung with wild woods, thick'uing, greeu 
The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, 

Twin'd amorous round the raptur'd scene. 
Tke Sowers sprang wanton to be prest, 

The birds sang love on every spray, 
Till too, too soon, the glowing west, 

Proclaim'd the speed of winged day. 

Still o'er these scenes my mem*ry wakes, 

And fondly broods with miser care ! 
Time but the impression deeper makes, 

As streams their channels deeper wear. 
My Mary ! dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy blissful place of rest ? 
See'st thou thy lover lowly laid? 

-Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 187 

ELEGY 

ON THE LATE MISS BURNET, 

OF MONBODDO. 

Life ne'er exulted in so rich a prize, 

As Burnet lovely, from her native skies ; 

Nor envious Death so triumph'd in a blow, 

As that which laid the accomplished Burnet low. 

Thy form and mind, sweet maid, can I forget? 
In richest ore the brightest jewel set? 
In thee, high Heaven above was truest shown, 
As by his noblest work the Godhead best is known. 

In vain ye flaunt in summer's pride, ye groves j 
Thou crystal streamlet with thy flowery shore, 

Ye woodland choir that chant your idle loves, 
Ye cease to charm— Eliza is no more ! 

Ye heathy wastes, unmix 1 d with reedy fens ; 

Ye mossy streams, with sedge and rushes stor'd ; 
Ye rugged cliffs, o'erhanging dreary glens, 

To you 1 fly, ye with my soul accord. 

Brinces, whose cumb'rous pride was all their 
worth, 

Shall venal lays their pompous exit hail? 
And thou, sweet excellence ! forsake our earth, 

And not a muse in honest grief bewail ? 



188 POEMS, 

We saw thee shine in youth and beauty's pride, 
And virtue's light, that beams beyond the 
spheres ; 
But like the sun eclips'd at morning tide, 
K Thou left'st us darkling in a world of tears. 

The parent's heart that nestled fond in thee, 
That heart how sunk, a prey to grief and caref 

So deck d the woodbine sweet yon aged tre€, 
So from itravish'd, leaves it bleak and bare. 



VERSES 

Ofc READING, IN A NEWSPAPER, THE DEATH OF 
JOHN M'LEOD, ESQ. BROTHER TO A YOUNG LADY, 
A PARTICULAR FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR'S. 

Sad thy tale, thou idle page, 

And rueful thy alarms : 
Death tears the brother of her love 

From Isabella's arms. 

Sweetly deck'd with pearly dew , 

The morning rose may blow ; 
But cold, successive noontide blasts 

May lay its beauties low. 

Fair on Isabella's morn 

The sun propitious smiPd ; 
But, long ere noon, succeeding cloudi 

Succeeding hopes beguil'd. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 183 

Fate oft tears the bosom chords 

That Nature finest strung : 
So Isabella's heart was formed, 

And so that heart was wrung. 

Dread Omnipotence, alone 

Can heal the wound he gave ; 
Can point the brimful grief-worn eyes 

To scenes beyond the grave. 

Virtue's blossoms there shall blow, 

And fear no withering blast : 
There Isabella's spotless worth 

Shall happy be at last. 



SONNET 

ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT RIDDEL, ESQ 
OF GLEN RIDDEL, APRIL, 1794. 

No more, ye warblers of the wood, no more, 
;Nor pour your descant, grating, on my soul : 
Thou young-ey'd Spring, gay in thy verdant stole, 

More welcome were to me grim Winter's wildest 
roar. 



190 POEMS 

How can ye charm, ye flow'rs, with all your dyes? 
Ye blow upon the sod that wraps my friend : 
How can I to the tuneful strain attend ? 

That strain flows round th' untimely tomb where 
Riddel lies. 

Yes, pour, ye warblers, pour the notes of woe, 
And soothe the Virtues weeping on this bier : 
The Man of Worth, and has not left his peer, 

Is in his " narrow house" for ever darkly low. 

Thee, Spring, again with joy shall others greet j 
Me, memory of my loss will only meet. 



VERSES 



DEATH OF SIR JAMES HUNTER BLAIR. 

The lamp of day, with ill-presaging glare, 

Dim, cloudy, sunk beneath the western wave ; 

Th inconstant blast howl'd thro' the darkening air, 
And hollow whistled in the rocky cave. 

Lone as I wander* d by each cliff and dell, 

Once the lov'd haunts of Scottia's royal train* ; 
Or mus'd where limpid streams, once hallowed 

welit, 
, Or mould'ring ruins mark the sacred fane} ; 

* The King*s Park, at Holy rood-bom"' 
V SL Anthony's Well 
\ 5t. Anthony's ChapeL 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 191 

Th' increasing blast roar'd round the beetling rock, 
The clouds, swift-wing'd flew o'er the starry sky • 

The groaning trees untimely shed their locks, 
And shooting meteors caught the startled eye. 

The paly moon rose in the livid cast, 

And 'mong the cliffs difclos'd a stately Form, 

In weeds of woe that frantic beat her breast, 
And mix'dher waitings with the raving storm. 

Wild to my heart the filial pulses glow, 
'Twas Caledonia's trophied shield I view'd : 

Her form majestic droop'd in pensive woe, 
The lightening of her eye in tears imbued. 

Eevers'd that spear, redoubtable in war, 
Recliu'd that banner, erst in fields unfurl'd, 

That like a deathful meteor gleam'd afar, 

And brav'd the mighty monarchs of the world;— 

" My patriot Son fills an untimely grave!" 
With accents wild and lifted arms she cried— 

" Low lies the hand that oft was stretch'd to save, 
Low lies the heart that swell'd with honest pride! 

" A weeping country joins a widow's tear, 
The helpless poor mix with the orphan's cry •, 

The drooping hearts surround their patrons bier 
And grateful science heaves the heartfelt sigh, 

u I saw my sons resume their ancient fire ; 

I saw fair Freedom's blossoms richly blow; 
But, ah ! how hope is born but to expire ! 

Relentless fate has laid this guardian low. 



J92 



POEMS, 



" My patriot falls, but shall he lie unsung, 
While empty greatness saves a worthless name 

No ; every Muse shall join her tuneful tongue, 
And future ages hear his growing fame, 

H And I will join a mother's tender cares, 
Thro' future times to make his virtues last, 

That distant years may boast of other Blairs :"— 
She said, and vanish'd with the sweeping blast. 



ADDRESS 

TO THE SHADE OF THOMSON, 

OS CROWNING HIS BUST AT EDNAM, ROXBURGH* 
SHIRE, WITH BAYS. 

While virgin Spring, by Eden's flood, 
Unfolds her tender mantle green, 

Or pranks the sod in frolic mood, 
Or tunes Eolian strains between : 

While Summer with a matron grace 
Retreats to Dryburgh's cooling shade, 

Yet oft. iMfchted, stops to trace 
The progress of the spiky blade : 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 19*3 

While Autumn, benefactor, kind, 

By Tweed erects his aged head, 
And sees, with self-approving inina, 

Each creature on his bounty fed : 

While maniac Winter rages o'er 
The hills whence classic Yarrow flows, 

Rousing the turbid torrent's roar, 
Or weeping wild a waste of snows: 

So long, sweet Poet of the year, 

Shall bloom that wreath thou well hast won; 
While Scotia with exulting tear, 

Proclaims that Thomson was hesr son. 



EPITAPH 



FOB THE AUTHOR S FATHER. 

O YE, whose cheek the tear of pity stains, 
Draw near with pious rev'rence and attend! 

Here lie the loving husband's dear remains, 
The tender father, and the gen'rous friend. 

The pitying heart that felt for human woe ; 

The dauntless heart that fear'd no human pride \ 
The friend of man, to vice alone a foe ; 

" For ev'n his failings lean'd to virtue's side V 



• Goldsmith. 

Vol. I. N 



134 I OEMS* 



FOR R. A. ESQ. 



Know thou, O stranger to the fame 
Of this much lov'd, much honour'd name T 
(For none that knew him need be told) 
A warmer heart Death ne'er made cold. 



ON A FRIEND. 

An honest man here lies at rest, 
As e'er God with his image blest ; 
The friend of man, the friend of truth ; " 
The friend of age, and guide of .youths 
Few hearts like his, with virtue warm'd, 
Few heads with knowledge so inform'd : 
If there's another world, lie lives in bliss ; 
If there is none, he maiie the best of this* 



CHIEFJ.Y SCOTTISH. 185 



BARD'S EPITAPH. 

Is there a whim-inspired fool, 

Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, 

Ovvre blate to seek, owre proud to snool, 

Let him draw near ; 
And owre this grassy heap sing dool, 

And drap a tear. 

Is there a Bard of rustic song, 
Who, noteless, steals the crowds among, 
That weekly this area throng, 
O, pass not by ! 
But with a frater-feeling strong, 
Here heave a sigh. 

Is there a man, whose judgment clear, 
Can others teach the course to steer, 
Vet runs, himself, life's mad career, 

Wild as the wave ; 
Here pause— and, thro' the starting tear, 
Survey this grave. 

The poor inhabitant below 
Was quick to learn and wise to know, 
And keenly felt the friendly glow, 

And softer flame, 
But thoughtless follies laid him low, 
And stain'd his name ! 



195 POEMS, 

Reader, attend — whether thy soul 
Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole, 
Or darkling grubs this* earthly hole, 

In low pursuit ; 
Know, prudent, cautious, self-eontroul } 

Is wisdom's root. 



VERSES 



ON THE BIRTH OF A POSTHtJMOUS CHILD 

BORN IN PECULIAR CIRCUMSTANCES OF 
FAMILY-DISTRESS. 



Sweet Flow'ret, pledge o' meikle love, 
And ward o'monie apray'r, 

What heart o' stane wad thou na move, 
Sae helpless, sweet, and fair ! 

November hirples o'er the lea, 

Chill, on thy lovely form ; 
And gane, alas! the shelt*ring tree, 

Should shield thee frae the storm. 

May He who gives the rain to pour, 
And wings the blast to blaw, 

Protect thee frae the driving show'r, 
The bitter frost and snaw J 



chiefly Scottish/ 197 

May He, the friend of woe and want, 
Who heals life's various stounds, 

Protect and guard the mother-plant, 
And heal her cruel wounds ! 

But late she flourished, rooted fast, 

Fair on the summer morn : 
Now, feebly bends she in the blast, 

Unshelter'd and forlorn. 

Blest be thy bloom, thou lovely gem, 

Unscath'd by ruffian hand ! 
And from thee many a parent stem 

Arise to deck our land ! 



ON SExXSIBILITY. 

TO MY DEAR AND MUCH-HONOURED FRIEND, 
MRS. DUNLOP, OF DUNLOP. 

Sensibility, how charming, 
Thou, my friend, canst truly tell ; 

But distress with horrors arming, 
Thou hast also known too well ! 

Fairest flower, behold the lily, 

Blooming in the sunny ray ; 
Let the blast sweep o'er the valley, 

See it prostrate on the clay. 



198 POEMS, 

Hear the wood-lark charm the forest, 
Telling o'er his little joys ; 

Hapless bird ! a prey the surest, 
To each pirate of the skies. 

Dearly bought the hidden treasure, 

Finer feelings can bestow 
ChordvS that vibrate sweetest pleasure, 
L Thrill the deepest notes of woe. 



VERSES 

ON SEEING A WOUNDED HARE LIMP BY ME, 
WHICH A FELLOW HAD JUST SHOT AT. 

Inhuman man ! curse on thy barb'rous art, 
And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye : 
May never pity soothe thee with a sigh, 

Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart ! 

Go, live, poor wanderer of the wood and field, 
The bitter little that of life remains : 
No more the thickening brakes and verdant 
plains 

To thee shall home, or food, or pastime yield. 

Seek, mangled wretch, some place of wonted rest, 
No more of rest, but now thy dying bed ! 
The sheltering rushes whistling o'er thy head, 

The cold earth with thy bloody bosom prest* 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH, 199 

Oft as by winding Nith I, musing, wait 
Tiie sober eve, or hail the cheerful dawn, 
I'll miss thee sporting o'er the dewy lawn, 

And curse the ruffian's dim, and mourn thy hap- 
less fate 



LINES 

ON SCARING SOME WATER-FOWL IN LOCH 
TURIT, 

A WILD SCENE AMONG THE HILLS OF 
OUGHTERTYRE. 

Why, ye tenants of the lake, 
For me your wat'ry haunt forsake ? 
Tell me, fellow-creatures, why 
At my presence thus you fly ? 
Why disturb your social joys, 
Parent, filial, kindred ties ?— 
Common friend to you and me, 
Nature's gifts to all are free : 
Peaceful keep your dimpling wave, 
Busy feed, or wanton lave ; 
Or, beneath the sheltering rock, 
Bide the surging billow's shock. 

Conscious, blushing for our race, 
Soon, too soon, your fears I trace 



200 POEMS 

Man, your proud usurping foe, 
Would be lord of al! below ; 
Plumts himself in Freedom's pride, 
Tyrant stern to all beside. 

The eagle, from the cliffy brow, 
Marking you his prey below, 
Iu his breast no pity dwells, 
Strong necessity compels : 
But man, to whom alone is giv'n 
A ray direct from pitying Heav'n, 
Glories in his heart humane — 
And creatures for his pleasure slain. 

In these savage, liquid plains, 
Only known to wand'ring swain?, 
Where the mossy riv'let strays, 
Far from human haunts and wsj? § 
All on Nature you depend, 
And life's poor season peaceful spemL 

Or, if man's superior might, 
Dare invade your native right, 
On the lofty ether borne, 
Man with all his pow'rs yon scon? ; 
Swiftly seek, on Clanging wings, 
Other lakes and other springs ; 
And the foe you cannot brave, 
Scorn at least to be bis Uav© 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 201 



SONNET, 

WRITTEN ON THE 25TH OF JANUARY, 179S, THR 
BIRTH-DAY OF THE AUTHOR, ON HEARING A 
THRUSH IN A MORNING WALK. 

Sing on, sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough ; 

Sing on, sweet bird, I listen to thy strain; 

See aged Winter, 'mid his surly reign, 
At thy blithe carol clears his furrow'd brow : 

So in lone Poverty's dominion drear, 

Sits meek Content with light unanxious heart, 
Welcomes the rapid moments, bids them part, 

Nor asks if they bring aught to hope or tear. 

I thank thee, Author of this opening day! 

Thou whose bright sun now guilds yon orient 
skies! 

Riches denied, thy boon was purer joys, 
What wealth could never give nor take away ! 

Yet come, thou child of poverty and rare ; 
The mite hi^h Heav'n bestow'd, that mite with thee 
I'll share. 



202 POEMS, 



TO A MOUSE, 



ON TURNING HER UP IN HER NEST, WITH THIS 
PLOUGH, NOVEMBER, 1785. 

Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rons beastie, 
O, what a panic's in thy breastie ! 
Thou need na start awa sae hasty, s 

Wi' bickerin brattle! 
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, 

Wi' murd'ring pattle! 

I'm truly sorry man's dominion 
Has broken Nature's social union, 
An* justifies that ill opinion, 

Which makes thee startle 
At me, thy poor earth-born companion, 
An' fell oic -mortal ! 

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve 
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live! 
A daimen icker in a thrave 

's a sma' request : 
1*7* get a b\essin wi' the lave, 

And never mis* * \ 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 203 

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin ! 

Its silly wa's the win's are strewinr 

An* naething, now, to big a new anp 

O' foggage green ! 

An' bleak December's win's ensuin, 

Baith snell and keex 

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste, 
An' weary winter comin fast, 
An' cozie here, beneath the blast, 

Thou thought to dwell. 
Til!, crash ! the cruel coulter past 

Out thro' thy cell. 

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble, 
Has cost thee monie a weary nibble? 
Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble, 

But house orhald, 
To thole the winter's sleety dribble, 

An' cranreuch cauld ! ' 

But, Mousie, the* Art no thy lane, 
In proving foresight may be vain ; 
The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men y 

Gang aft a-gley, 
An' lea'c us nought but grief and pain, 

For promis'd joy. 

Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me! 
The present only toucheth thee : 
But, och ! I backward cast my e'e, 

On prospects drear ! s 
An' forward; tho' I canna see t 

I guess an fear 



204 POEMS, 



TO 



A MOUNTAIN DAISY, 

ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH, IB 
APRIL, 1786. 

Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r, 
Thoa'st met me in an evil boar;. 
For I maun crush amang the stoure 

Thy slender stem : 
To spare thee now is past my pow'r, 

Thou bonie gem. 

Alas ! it's no thy neebor sweet ! 
The bonie Lark, companion meet ! 
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet ! 

Wi' spreckled breast, 
Vi hen upward-springing, blythe, to greet 
The purpling East. 

Cauid blew the batter-biting North 
Upcn thy early, humble birth ; 
Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth 

Amid the storm, 
Scarce rear'd above the parent-earth 

Thy tender form. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 205 

The flaunting flow'rs our gardens yield, 
High sheltering woods and v/a's maun shield 
But thou beneath the random bield 
O* ciod or stane, 
Adorns the histie slibble- field, 

Unseen, alane. 

There, in thy scanty mantle clad, 
Thy snawie bosom sun-ward spread, 
Thou lifts thy unassuming head 

In humble guise ; 
But now the share nptears thy bed, 

And low thou lies ! 

Such is the fate of artless Maid, 
Sweet flow'ret of the rural shade ! 
By love's simplicity b^tray'd, 

And guileless trust, 
Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid, 
Low i' the dust. 

Such is the fate of simple Bard, 
On life's rough ocean luckless starrM ! 
Unskilful he to note the card 

Of prudent lore, 
Tilt billows rage, and gales blow hard, 

And whelm him o'er ! 

Such fate to suffering worth is giv'n, 
Who long with wants and woes has sfcriv'iit 
By human pride or cunning driv'n, 

To mis'ry's brink, 
Till wrench'd of ev'ry stay but Heat**, 

He, ruin'd, sii?k ! 



206 POEMS, 

Ev'n thou who mourn'stthe Daisy's fate^ 
Thutfaie is thine— no distant date ; 
Stern Ruin's plough-share drives, elate, 

Full on thy bloom, 
Till crush'd beneath the furrow's weighty 

Shall be thy doom ! 



THE 

HUMBLE PETITION OF BRUAR 
WATER*, 

TO THE NOBLE DUKE OF ATHOLE. 

My Lord, I know your noble ear 

Woe ne'er assails in vain; 
Embolden'd thus, [ beg you'll hear 

Your humble Slave complain, 
How saucy Phoebus' scorching beams, 

In flaming summer-pride, 
Dry-withering, waste my foamy streams, 

And drink my crystal tide. 



* Eruar Fallaiu Athole, are exceedingly picturesque and beautiful jt 
tut their effect is much impaired hv the want of trees and shrubs 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH, 20/ 

The lightly-jumping glowrin trouts, 

That thro' my waters play, 
If, in their random, wanton spouts, 

They near the margin stray ; 
If, hapless chance ! they linger lang, 

I'm scorching up so shallow, 
They're left the whit'ning stanes amang, 

In gasping death to wallow. 

Last day I grat wi' spite and teen, 

As Poet B**** came by, 
That, to a Bard, I should be seen 

Wi' half my channel dry : 
A panegyric rhyme, I ween, 

Ev'n as I was he shor'd me ; 
But had I in my glory been, 

He, kneeling, wad ador'd me* 

Here, foaming down the shelvy rocks, 

In twisting strength I rin ; 
There, high my boiling torrent smokes, 

Wild-roaring o'er a linn : 
Enjoying large each spring and well _ 

As Nature gave them me, 
I am, altho' I say't mysel, 

Worth gaun a mile to see. 

Would then my noble master please 

To grant my highest wishes, 
He'll shade my banks wi' tow'ring tree* 

And bonie spreading bushes ; 
Delighted doubly then, my Lord, 

You'll wander on my bank3, 
And listen monie a grateful bird 

Return you tuneful thanks. 



208 POEMS, 

The sober lav'rock, warbling wild, 

Shall to the skies aspire ; 
The gowdspink, music's gayest child, 

Shall sweetly join the choir : 
The blackbird strong, the lintwhite clear, 

The mavis mild and mellow > 
The robin pensive autumn cheer, 

In all her locks of yellow : 

This too, a covert shall ensure, 

To shield them from the storm ; 
And coward maukin sleep secure, 

Low in her grassy form : 
Here shall the shepherd make his seat, 

To weave his crown of flow'rs; 
Or find a shelt'ring, safe retreat, 

From prone descending show'rs. 

And here, by sweet, endearing stealth, 

Shall meet the loving pair, 
Despising worlds with all their wealth 

As empty, idle care. 
The flow'rs shall vie in all their charms, 

The hour of heav'n to grace, 
And birks extend their fragrant arms, 

To screen the dear embrace* 

Here haply too, at vernal dawn, 

Some musing Bard may stray, 
And eye the smoking, dewy lawn, 

And misty mountain, grey ; 
Or, by the reaper's nightly beam, 

Mild chequ'riug thro' the trees, 
Rave to my darkly-dashing stream, 

Hoarse-swelling on the breeze. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 203 

Let lofty firs, and ashes cool, 

My lowly banks o'erspread, 
And view, deep-bending in the pool, 

Their shadows' wat'ry bed : 
Let fragrant birksij woodbines diest 

My craggy cliffs adorn ; 
And, for the little songster's next. 

The close embow'ring thorn. 

So may, old Scotia's darling hope, 

Your little angel band, 
Spring, like their fathers, np to prop 

Their honoured native land ! 
So may thro' Albion's farthest ken, 

To social-flowing glasses, 
The grace be — rt Athole's honest men, 

And Athole's bonie lasses \" 



LINES 



ITRITTEN, WITH A PENCIL, OVER THB 
CHIMNEY-PIECE, 

IN THE PARLOUR OF THE INN AT KENMORE, 
TAYMOUTH. 

\dmiring Nature in her wildest grace, 
These northern scenes with weary feet I trace ; 
9'ermany a winding dale and painful sleep, 
IV abodes of covey'd grouse and timid sheep, 



I 



210 POEMS, 

My savage journey, curious, I pursue, 
Till fam'd Breadalbane opens to my view.— 
The meeting cliffs each deep-sunk glen divides, 
The woods, wild scattered, clothe their ample sides; 
Th' outstretching lake, embosom'd 'mong the bills, 
The eye with wonder and amazement fills ; 
The Tay meand'ring sweet in infant pride, 
The palace rising on his verdant side ; 
The lawns wood-fring'd in Nature's native taste ; 
The hillocks dropt in Nature's careless haste ; 
The arches striding o'er the new-born stream ; 
The village glittering in the noon-tide beam — 



Poetic ardours in my bosom swell, 

Lone, wand'ring by the hermit's mossy cell . 

The sweeping theatre of hanging woods ; 

Th' incessant roar of headlong tumbling floods— 



Here Poesy might wake her heav'n- taught lyre, 
And look thro' Nature with creative fire ; 
Here, to the wrongs of Fate half reconcil'd, 
Misfortune's lightened steps might wander wild ; 
And Disappointment, in these lonely bounds, 
Find balm to soothe her bitter, rankling wounds : 
Here heart-struck Grief might heav'n-ward stretch 

her scan, 
And injur'd Worth forget and pardon man. 



SCOTTISH. 211 



LINES 

WRITTEN, WITH A PENCIL, STANDING BY 
THE FALL OF FYERS, 

NEAR LOCH-NESS. 

Among the heathy hills and ragged woods 
The roaring Fyers pours his mossy floods ; 
Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds, 
Where, through a shapeless breach, his stream re- 
sounds. 
As high in air the bursting torrents flow, 
As deep recoiling surges foam below, 
Prone down the rock the whitening sheet descends, 
And viewless Echo's ear, astonish'd, rends. 
Dim-seen, through rising mists and ceaseless 

show'rs, 
The hoary cavern, wide-surrounding, low'rs. 
Still thro* the gap the struggling river toils, 
And still, below, the horrid cauldron boils— 



o 2 



212 POEMS, 

BOOK III. 

FAMILIAR AND EPISTOLARY. 



TO MISS L- 



WITH BEATTIES POEMS AS A NEW YEAR'S GIFT* 
JANUARY 1, 1787. 

Again the silent wheels of time 
Their annual round have driv'n, 

And you, tho* scarce in maiden prime, 
Are so much nearer heav'n. 

No gifts have I from Indian coasts 

The infant year to hail ; 
I send you more than India boasts, 

In Edwin's simple tale. 

Our sex with guile and faithless love 

Is charg'd, perhaps, too true ; 
But may, dear maid, each lover prove 

An Edwin still to you. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 213 

TO 

MISS CRUICKSHANKS, 

A VERY YOUNG LADY. 

WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF OF A BOOK 
PRESENTED TO HER BY THE AUTHOR. 

Beauteous rose-bud, young and gay, 
Blooming on thy early M ay, 
Never may'st thou, lovely flow'r, 
Chilly shrink in sleety show'r ! 
Never Boreas* hoary path, 
Never Eurus' pois'nous breath, 
Never baleful stellar lights 
Taint thee with untimely blights ! 
Never, never reptile thief 
Riot on thy virgin leaf ! 
Nor even Sol too fiercely view 
Thy bosom blushing still with dew J 

May'st thou long, sweet crimson ge m, 
Richly deck thy native stem ; 
Till some ev'ning, sober, calm, 
Dropping dews, and breathing balm, 
While all around the woodland rings, 
And every bird thy requiem sings ; 
Thou, amid the dirgeful sound, 
Shed thy dying honours round, 
And resign to parent earth 
The loveliest form she e'er gave birth. 



214 FOEMS, 

VERSES, 

ON A YOUNG LADY, 



RESIDING ON THE BANKS OF THE SMALL RIVER 
DEVON, IN CLACKMANNANSHIRE, BUT WHOSE 
INFANT YEARS WERE SPENT IN AYRSHIRE. 

How pleasant the banks of the clear-winding 
Devon 
With green-spreading bushes, and no w'rs bloom- 
ing fair ; 
But the boniest flower on the banks of the Devon 
Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the Ayr. 

Mild be the sun on this sweet-blushing flower, 
In the gay, rosy morn as it bathes in the dew ! 

And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower. 
That steals on the evening each leaf to renew. 

O spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes, 
With chill hoary wing as ye usher the dawn ! 

And far be thou distant, thou reptile that seizes 
The verdure and pride of the garden and lawu ! 

Let Bourbon exult in his gay gilded lilies, 

And England triumphant display her proad 
rose ; 

A fairer than either adorns the green vallies 
Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows. 



SCOTTISH. 215 



VERSES 



TO A YOUNG LADY, WITH X PRESENT OF SONGS. 

Here, where the Scottish muse immortal lives, 
In sacred strains and tuneful numbers join'd, 

Accept the gift ; tho' humble he who gives ^ 
Rich is the tribute of the grateful mind. 

So may no ruffian-feeling in thy breast, 
Discordant jar thy bosom-chords among $ 

But peace attune thy gentle soul to rest, 
Or love ecstatic wake his seraph song j 

Or pity's notes, in luxury of tears, 
As modest want the tale of woe reveals; 

While conscious virtue all the strain endears,' 
And heav'n-boru piety her sanction seals. 



216 POEMS, 



VERSES, 



WRITTEN ON THE ELANK LEAF OF A COPY OF Hi , 
POEMS, PRESENTED TO A LADY, WHOM HE HAirf 
OFTEN CELEBRATED UNDER THE NAME OF 
CHLORIS. 

'Trs Friendship's pledge, my young fair friend, 

Nor thou the gift refuse, 
Nor with unwilling ear attend 

The moralizing muse. 

Since thou, in all thy youth and charms, 

Must bid the world adieu, 
(A world 'gainst peace in constant arras) 

To join the friendly few. 

Since, thy gay morn of life o'ercast, 

Chill came the tempest's lower ; 
(And ne'er misfortune's eastern blast 

Did nip a fairer flower). 

Since life's gay scenes must charm no more, 

Still much is left behind ; 
Still nobler wealth hast thou in store, 

The comforts of the mind I 

Thine is the self-approving glow, 

On conscious honour's part; 
And, dearest gift of Heaven below. 

Thine friendship's truest heart. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 217 

The joys refin'd of sense and taste, 

With every Muse to rove : 
And doubly were the Poet bles* 

These joys could he improve. J 



VERSES 



WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF OF A TOPY OF HI» 
POEMS, PRESENTED TO AN OLD SWEETHEART, 
THEN MARRIED. 



Once fondly lov'd, and still remember'd dear, 
Sweet early object of my youthful vows, 

Accept this mark of friendship, warm, sincere, 
Friendship !— 'tis all cold duty now allows :— 

And when you read the simple, artless rhymes, 
One friendly sigh for him, he asks no more, 

Who distant burns in flaming, torrid climes, 
Or haply lies beneath the Atlantic roar. 



218 POEMS, 



S3 



A YOUNG LADY, 



HISS JESSY L , DUMFRIES ; WITH BOOTS 

WHICH THE BARD PRESENTED HER, 

Thine be the volumes, Jessy fair, 
And with them take the Poet's prayer 
That Fate may in her fairest page, 
With ev'ry kini> iest, best presage 
Of future blies enrol thy name ; 
With native worth, and spotless fame, 
And wakeful caution still aware 
Of ill— but chief, man's felon snare ; 
All blameless joys on earth we find, 
And all the treasures of the mind— 
These be thy guardian and reward ; 
So prays thy faithful friend, the Bard* 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 219 



TO J. S**** 



Prier/}»bip ! mysteriotw cement of tbewd! 
Swect'ner of life, and solder cf society ! 

I owe thee much. 

BLAIR. 



Dear S****, thee sleest, paukie thief, 
That e'er attempted stealth or rief, 
Ye surely hae some warlock-breef 

Owre human hearts; 
For ne'er a bosom yet was prief 

Against your arts. 

For me, I swear by sun and moon, 
And ev'ry star that blinks aboon, 
Ye've cost me twenty pair o' shoon 

Just gaim to see you ; 
And ev'ry ither pair that's done, 

Mair taen I'm wi* you. 

That auld capricious carlin, Nature, 
To mak amends for scrimpit stature. 
She's turii'd you aif, a human creature 

On her^r^plan, 
And in her freaks, on ev'ry feature, 

She's wrote, the Man, 



220 POEMS, 

Just now I've taen the fit o f rhyme, 
My barmie noddle's working prime, 
My fancie yerkit up sublime 

Wi* hasty summon : 
Hae ye a leisure-moment's time 

To hear what's comin ? 

Some rhyme, a neebor's name to lash ; 
Some rhyme (vain thought !) for needfu' cash \ 
Some rhyme to court the countra clash, 

An' raise a din ; 
For me, an aim I never fash ; 

I rhyme for fun. 

The star that rules my luckless lot, 
Has fated me the russet coat, 
An* damn'd my fortune to the groat ; 

But in requit, 
Has bless'd me wi' a random shot 

O' countra wit. 

This while my notion's taen a sklent, 
To try my fate in guid black prent ; 
But still the mair I'm that way bent, 

Something cries, H Hoo 13 
I red you, honest man, tak tent ! 

Ye'Jl shaw your folly. 

a There's iiher poets, much your betters, , 
Far seen in Greek, deep men o' letters, 
Hae thought they had ensured their debto s, 

A' future ages; 
Now moths deform in shapeless tatters 

Their unknown pages.'* 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 221 

Then farewell hopes o' laurel-boughs, 
To garland my poetic brows! 
Henceforth I'll rove where busy plough- 
Are whistling thrang, 
An* teach the Ianely heights an' howes 
My rustic sang. 

1*11 wander on, wi' tentless heed 
How never-halting moments speed, 
Till fate shall snap the brittle thread ; 
Then, all unknown, 
I'll lay me with th' inglorious dead, 
Forgot and gone ! 

But why o* Death begin a tale ? 
Jnst now we're living, sound, and haie, 
Then top and main-top crowd the sail, 

Heave Care o'er-side ! 
And large, before Enjoyment's gale, 
Let's tak the tide. 

This life, sae far's I understand, 
Is a* enchanted, fairy land, 
Where Pleasure is the magic wand, 

That, wielded right, 
Maks Hours, like Minutes, hand in hand, 
Dance by fir* light. 

The magic wand then let us wield ; 
For, ance that five-an'-forty's speePd, 
See crazy, weary, joyless Eild, 

Wi' wrinkled face 
Tomes hostin, hirplin owre the fieKi, 

Wi' creepin pace. 



222 poems. 

When ance Life's day draws near tl*e 
gloamin, 
Then fareweel vacant careless roamin ; 
An' fareweel chearfu' tankards foamin, 

An' social noise ; 
An' fareweel, dear, deluding woman. 
The joy of joys. 

O Life ! how pleasant in thy morning, 
Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning ! 
Cold-pausing Caution's lesson scorning, 

We frisk away, 
Like school-boys, at th' expected warning 
To joy and play. 

We wander there, we wander here, 
We eye the rose upon the brier, 
Unmindful that the thorn is near, 

Among the leaves ; 
And tho' the puny wound appear, 

Short while it grieves, 

Some, lucky, find a flow'ry spot, 
For which they never toil'd nor swat-, 
They drink the sweet, and eat the fat 

But care or pain ; 
And, haply, eye the barren hut 

With high disdain. 

With steady aim, some Fortune chase ; 
Keen hope does every sinew brace ; 
Thro' fair, thro' foul, they urge the race; 

And seize the prev. 
XV*n oenie, in some cozie place, 

They close the day 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 223 

And others, like your humble servan', 
Poor wights ! nae rules nor roads observin ; 
To right or left, eternal swervin, 

They zig-zag on ; 
Till curst with age, obscure an* starvin, 

They aften groan. 

Alas ! what bitter toil an' straining— 
But, truce with peevish, poor complaining! 
Is Fortune's fickle Luna waning ? 

E'en let her gang ! 
Eeneath what light she has remaining, 

Let's sing our sang. 

My pen I here fling to the door, 
And kneel," Ye Powers V and warm implore, 
" Tho* I should wander Terra o'er 

In all her climes, 
Grant me but this, I ask no more, 

Ay rowth o' rhymes. 

" Gie dreeping roasts to countra lairds, 
Till icicles hing frae their beards ; 
Gie fine braw claes to fine Life-Guards r 

And Maids of Honour* 
And yill an' whiskey, gie to Cairds, 

Until they sconner. 

w A Title, Dempster merits it ; 
A garter gie to Willie Pitt ; 
Gie Wealth to some be-ledger'd cit, 
In cent, per cent. 
But gie me real, sterling Wit, 

And I'm content. 



224 poems, 

" While ye are pleas'd to keep me bate, 
111 sit down o'er my scanty meal, 
Be't water-brose or muslin-kail, 

Wi' cheerfu' face, 
As lang's the Muses dinna fail 

To say the grace." 

An anxious e'e I never throws 
Bphint my lug, or by my nose ; 
I jouk beneath Misfortune's blows 

As weel's I may; 
Sworn foe to Sorrow, Care, and Prose, 

I rhyme away. 

O ye douse folk, that live by rule, 
Grave, tideless-blooded, calm, and cool, 
Compar'd wi' you — O fool ! fool ! fool ! 

How much unlike ! 
Your hearts are just a standing pool. 

Your lives, a dyke* 

Nae hair-brain'd sentimental traces 
In your unletter'd, nameless faces ! 
In arioso trills and graces 

Ye never stray, 
But, gravissimo, solemn basses 

Ye hum avray. 

Ye are sae grave, nae doubt ye're wi§e$ 
Nae fcrly tho' ye do despise 
The hairum-scarum. ram-stam boys, 

The rattlin squad ; 
I see you upward cast your eyes— 

—Ye ken the road.-* 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 225 

Whilst I— but I shall haud me there — 
Wi* you T'll scarce gang ony where—? 
Then. Jamie, I shall say nae mair, 

But quat my sang, 
Content wi' you to make a pair, 

Whare'er I gang. 



EPISTLE TO DAVIE, 

A BROTHER POET*. 

January— 

While winds frae aff Ben- Lomond blaw, 
And bar the doors wi* driving snaw, 

And hing us owre the ingle, 
I *et me down to pass the time, 
And spin a verse or twa o' rhyme, 

In hamely westlin jingle. 
While frosty winds blaw in the drift, 

Ben to the cbimla lug, 
I grudge a wee the great folks' gift, 
That live sae bien an' snug : 
I tent less, and want less 
Their roomy fire-side ; 
But hanker and canker, 
To see their cursed pride, 



* David Slllar, one of the Club at Tarbolton. and author of a ccftin* 
ff Poems in the Scottish dialect. 

Vol. I. P 



226 poems, 

It's hardly in a body's pow'r, 

To keep, at times, frae being sour, 

To see how things are shar'd ; 
How best o' chiels are whiles in want, 
While coofs on countless thousands rant, 

And ken na how to wair't : 
But Davie, lad, ne'er fash your head, 

Tho' we hae little gear, 
We're fit to win our daily bread, 
As lang's we're hale and tier : 
" Mair spier na, no fear na*," 

Auld age ne'er mind a feg, 
The last o't, the warst o't, 
Is only for to beg. 



To lie in kilns and barns at e'en, 

When banes are craz'd, and bluid is tbiat, 

Is, doubtless, great distress ! 
Yet then content could make us blest . 
Ev'n then, sometimes, we'd snatch a tast* 

Of truest happiness. 
The honest heart that's free frae a' 

Intended fraud or guile, 
However fortune kick the ba', 
Has ay some cause to smile, 
And mind still, you'll find still, 

A comfort this nae sma' ; 
Nae mair then, we'll care then, 
Nae farther can we fa'. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 227 

iVliat tho', like commoners of air, 
We wander out we know not where, 

But either house or hal' ? 
Yet Nature's charms, the hills and woods, 
The sweeping vales and foaming floods, 

Are free alike to all. 
[n days when daisies deck the ground, 

And hlackbirds whistle clear, 
With honest joy our hearts will bound, 
To see the coming year : 

On braes, when we please, the?!, 

We'll sit an' sowth a tune ; 
Syne rhyme till't, we'll time tillt* 
And sing*t when we hae done. 

It's no in titles nor in rank ; 

It's no in wealth like Lorion bank, 

To purchase peace and rest j 
It's no in makin rauckle mair ; 
It's no in books ; it's no in lear, 

To make us truly blest : 
If happiness hae not her seat 
And centre in the breast, 
We may be wise, or rich, or great, 
But never can be blest : 

Nae treasures, nor pleasures, 
Could make us happy lang ; 
The heart ay's the part ay, 
That makes us right or wrang. 

Think ye, that sic as you and I, 
Wha drudge and drive thro' wet au' dry t 
Wi' never-ceasing toil ; 
p 2 



228 poems, 

Think ye, are we less blest than thcy f 
Wha scarcely tent us in their way, 

As hardly worth their while ? 
Alas ! how aft in haughty mood, 
God's creatures they oppress ! 
Or else, neglecting a* that's guid, 
They riot in excess ! 

Baith careless and fearless 
Of either heav'n or hell ! 
Esteeming, and deeming 
It's a' an idle tale ! 

Then let us cheerfu' acquiesce ; 
Nor make our scanty pleasures les3^ 

By pining at our state ; 
And, even should misfortunes come, 
I, here wha sit, hae met wi' some f 

An' 's thankfV for them yet. 
They gie the wit of age to youth ; 

They let us ken oursel ; 
They make us see the naked truth, 
The real guid and ill. 
Tho' losses, and crosses, 

Be lessons right severe, 
There's wit there, ye'll get there, 
Ye'll find nae other where. 



But tent me, Dame, ace o' hearts ! 

(To say aught less wad wrang the carte% 

And flatt'ry I detest), 
This life has joys for you and I ; 
And joys that riches ne'er could buy; 

And joys the very best. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 229 

There's a* the pleasures o* the heart t 

The lover an' the frien* ; 
Yehae your Meg, your dearest part, 
And I my darling Jean / 

It warms me, it charms me, 
To mention but her name: 
It heats me, it beets me, 
And sets me a' on flame ! 



O all ye Pow'rs who rule above ? 
O Thou, whose very self art love I 

Thou kuow'st my words sincere ! 
The life-blood streaming thro' my heart, 
Or my more dear immortal part, 

Is not more fondly dear ! 
When heart-corroding care and grief 

Deprive my soul of rest, 
Her dear idea brings relief 
And solace to my breast. 
Thou Being, All-seeing, 

O hear ray fervent prayer ; 
Still take her, and make her 
Thy most peculiar care ! 



All hail, ye tender feelings dear ! 
The smile of love, the friendly tear, 

The sympathetic glow ; 
Long since, this world's thorny ways 
Had number'd out my weary days, 

Had it not been for you ! 
Fate still has blest me with a friend, 

In every care and ill ; 



230 POEMS, 

And oft a more endearing band, 
A tie more tender still. 
It lightens, it brightens 
The tenebrific scene, 
To meet with, and greet with, 
My Davie or my Jean. 



O, how that name inspires my style ! 
The words come skelpin rank and file, 

Amaist before I ken ! 
The ready measure rins as fine, 
As Phoebus and the famous Nine 

Were glowrin owre my pen. 
Myspaviet Pepams will limp, 

Till ance he's fairly het ; 
And then he'll hilcb, and stilt, and jimp, 
An' rin an unco fit : 

But lest then, the beast then, 
Should rue this hasty ride ; 
I'll light now, and dightnow, 
H» sweaty, witen'd aide, 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 231 



TO THE SAME. 

AULD NlBOR, 

I'm three times doubly o'er your debtor, 
For your auld-farrant, frien'ly letter, 
Tho' I maun say't, I doubt ye flatter, 

Ye speak sae fair ; 
For my puir, silly, rhymin' clatter, 

Some less maun sair. 

Hale be your heart, hale be your fiddle ; 
Lang may your elbuck jink an' diddle, 
To cheer you thro' the weary widdle 

O' warty cares, 
Till bairns' bairns kindly cuddle 

Your auld, gray hair*. 

But Davie, lad, I'm red ye're glaikit; 
I'm tauld the Muse ye hae negleckit 
An' gif it's sae, ye sud be licket 

Until ye fyke ; 
Sic hauns as you sud ne'er be faikit 

Be hain't wha like. 

For me, I'm on Parnassus 5 brink, 

Rivin the words tae gar them clink ; 

Whyles daez't wi' love, whyles daez't wr* drink, 

Wi' jads or masons ; 
An' whyles, but ay owre late, I think 

Braw sober lessons, 



232 poems, 

Of a* the thoughtless sons o* man, 
Commen' me to the Bardie clan ; 
Except it be some idle plan 

O' rhymin' clink, 
The devil-haet, that I sud ban, 

They ever think. 

Nae thought, nae view, nae scheme o' livin% 
Nae cares tae gie us joy or grievin'; 
But just the pouchie put the nieve In, 

An' while ought's there, 
Then hiltie, skiltie, we gae scrievin', 

An' fash nae mair. 

Leeze me on rhyme ! it's ay a treasure, 
My chief, amaist my only pleasure, 
Athame, a fief, at wark or leisure, 

The Muse, poor hizzie ! 
Tho' rough an' raploch be her measure, 

She's seldom lazy. 

Hand tae the Muse, my dainty Davie 
The warl' may play you monie a shavic ; 
But for the Muse, she'll never leave ye, 

Tho' e'er sae puir, 
Na, even tho' limpin wi' the spavie 

Frae door to door. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 233 



EPISTLE TO J. LAPRAIK, 



AN OLD SCOTTISH BARD. 



April 1, 1785. 

While briers an' woodbines budding green, 
An' paitricks scraichin loud at e'en, 
An* morning poussie whiddin seen, 

Inspire my Muse, 
This freedom in an unknown frien* 

I pray excuse. 

On fasten-een we had a rockin, 
To ca' the crack and weave our stockin ; 
And there was muckle fun and jokin, 
Ye need na doubt ; 
At length we had a hearty yokin 
A t satig about. 

There was ae sang, amang the rest, 
Aboon them a' it pleas'd me best, 
That some kind husband had addrest 

To some sweet wife : 
U thirPd the heart-strings thro' the breast, 
A' to the life. 



234 poems, 

I've scarce heard aught describes sae weei* 
What gen'rous, manly bosoms feel ; 
Thought I, " Can this be Pope, or Steele, 

Or Beattie's wark ?" 
They tald me 'twas an odd kind chiei 

About MuWiirk. 

It put me fidgin-fain to heart, 
And sae about him there I spier' t. 
Then a' that kent him round deciar'd 

He had ingine, 
That nane excell'd it, few cam neart, 

It was sae fine. 

That, set him to a pint of ale, 
An* either douce or merry tale, 
Or rhymes an 7 sangs he'd made himsei, 

Or witty catches, 
'Tween Inverness and Tiviotdale, 

He had few matches. 

Then up I got, an'' swoor an aith, 
Tho' I should pawn my pleugh and graitfl, 
Or die a cadger-powuie's death, 

At some dyke-back, 
A pint an' gill I'd gie them baith 

To hear your cracfe. 

But, first an' foremost, I should tell, 
Amaist as soon as I could spell, 
I to the crambo'jinglf fell, 

Tho' rude an' rough, 
Yet crooning to a body's sel, 

Does vveel enough. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 235 

I am nae Poet, in a sense, 

But just a Rhymer, like, by chance, 

An* hae to learning nae pretence, 

Yet, what the matter? 
Whene'er my Muse does on me glance, 

I jingle at her. 

Your critic-folk may cock their nose, 
And say, " How can you e'er propose, 
You wha ken hardly verse frae prose, 

To mak a sang?" 
But, by your leaves, my teamed foes, 
Ye're may be wraag. 

What's a' your jargon o' your schools, 
Your Latin names for hoins an* stools ; 
If honest Nature made yon fools, 

What sairs your grammars < 
Ye'd better taen up spades and shools, 

Or knappin-hammers. 

A set o' dull, conceited hashes, 
Confuse their brains in college classes ! 
They gang in stirks, and come out asses, 

Plain truth to speak ; 
An' syne they think to climb Parnassu* 

By dint o' Greek ! 

Give me ae spark o' Nature's tire, 
That's a' the learning I desire ; 
Then tho' I drudge through dub an' mire 

At pleugli or cart, 
My Muse, tho' hamely in attire, 

May touch the heart, 



236 poems, 

for a spunk o' Allan's glee, 
Or Fergasso?i's the bauld and slee, 
Or bright Lapwik's, my friend to be, 

If I can hit it ! 
That would be lear enough for me, 
If I could sret it. 

Now, Sir, if ye have friends enow, 
Tho, real friends, I b'lieve, are few, 
Yet, if your catalogue be fou, 

I se no insist, 
But gif ye want ae friend that's troe, 
I'm on your list. 

1 winna blaw about mysel ; 
As ill I like my fauts to tell; 

But friends, and folk that wisti me well. 

They sometimes roose ok** 

Tho* I maun own, as monie still 

As far abuse me. 

There's ae weefaut they whyles lay to me 
I like the lasses— Gude forgie me ! 
For monie a plack they wheedle frae me 

<• At dance or fair ; 
May be some it her thing they gie me, 
They weel can spare. 

But Mauchline race, or Manchline fair, 
I should be proud to meet you there ; 
We'se gieae night's discharge to care. 

If we forgather, 
An' hae a swap o' rhymin-ware 

Wi' ai\e anither. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 23? 

The fonr-gill chap, we'se gar him clatter, 
An* kirsen him wF reekin water ; 
Syne we'll sit down an' tak our whitter, 

To cheer our heart ; 
An' faith, we'se be acquainted better 

Before we part. 

Awa, ye selfish, warly race, 
Wha think that havins, sense, an* grace, 
Ev'n love an* friendship, should give place 

To catch-the-plack t 
I dinna like to see your face, 

Nor hear your crack. 

But ye whom social pleasure charms, 
Whose heart the tide of kindness warms, 
Who hold your being on the terms, 

" Each aid the others !" 
Come to my bowl, come to my arms 

My friends, my brothers ! 

But, to conclude my lang epistle, 
As my auld pen's worn to the grizzle ; 
Twa lines frae you wad gar me fissle, 

Who am most fervent, 
While I can either sing or whissle. 

Your friend and servant. 



238 poems, 

TO THE SAME. 

April 21,1733. 



While new-ca'd kye rout at the stake* 
An' pownies reek in pleugh or braik, 
This hour on e'enin's edge T take, 

To own I'm debtor 
To honest-hearted, an Id Lapraik, 

For his kind letter. 

Forjesket sair, with weary legs, 
Rattlin corn out-owre the rigs, 
Or dealing thro' amang the naigs 

Their ten-hours bite, 
My awkart Muse sair pleads and begs, 

I would na write. 

The tapetless ramfeezl'd hizzie, 
She's saft at best, and something lazy, 
Quo* she, " Ye ken, we've been sae busy. 

This month an' mair, 
That trouth my head is grown right dizzie, 

An' something sail*." 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 239 

Her dowff excuses pat me mad : 
'* Conscience/' says I, u ye thowless jad ! 
I'll write, an* that a hearty blaud, 

This vera night ; 
So dinna ye affront your trade, 

But rhyme it right. 

u Shall bauld Lapraik, the king o' hearts, 
Tho' mankind were a pack of cartes, 
Roose you sae weel for your deserts, 

In terms sae friendly, 
Yet ye'll neglect to shaw your parts, 

An' thank him kindly !" 

" Sae I gat paper in a blink, 
An' down gaed stumpie in the ink : 
Quoth I, " Before I sleep a wink, 

I vow I'll close it 5 
An' if you winna mak it clink, 

By Jove I'll prose it I" 

Sae I've begun to scrawl, but whether 
In rhyme or prose, or baith thegither, 
Or some hotch-potch that's rightly neither, 

Let time mak proof ; 
But I shall scribble down some blether, 

Just clean aff'-loof. 

My worthy friend, ne'er grudge an' carp, 
Hio' Fortune use you hard au' sharp ; 
Come, kittle up your moorland harp 

Wi' gleesome touch ! 
Ne'er mind how Fortune waft an' wa-p t 

She's but a b-tch. 



240 POEMS, 

She's gien me mouie a jirt an* fleg, 
Sin* I could striddle owre a rig ; 
But, by the L— d, tho' I should beg 

Wi* lyart pow, 
I'll laugh, an* ting, an' shake my leg, 

As lang's I dow ! 

Now comes the sax-an'-twentieth simmer, 
I've seen the bud upo* the tinimer, 
Still persecuted by the limmer 

Frae year to year ; 
But yet, despite the kittle kimmer, 

I, Rob, am here. 

Do ye envy the city Gent*> 
Behint a kist to lie and sklent, 
Or purse-proud, big wi' cent, per cent. 

And muckle wame, 
In some bit burgh to represent 

A Bailie's name ? 

Or, is't the paughty, feudal Thane, 
Wi* ruffled sark an' glancing cane, 
Wha thinks himsel nae sheep-shank bane, 
But lordly stalks, 
While caps and bonnets afFare taen, 

As by he walks ? 

" O Thou wha gies us each good gift ! 
Gie me o* wit an' sense a lift, 
Then turn me, if Thou please, adrift, 

Thro' Scotland wide ; 
Wi' Cits nor Lairds I wadna shift, 

In a' their pride !" 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH, 241 

Were this the charter of our state, 
On pain of hell be rich an' great,*' 
Damnation then would be our fate, 
Beyond remead ; 
But, thanks to Heavn ! that's no the gate 
We learn our creed : 

For thus the royal mandate ran, 
When first the human race began — 
K The social, friendly, honest man, 

Whate'er he be, 
Tis he fulfils great Nature's plan, 

An' none but he f 

O mandate glorious and divine! 
The ragged followers of the Nine, 
Poor, thoughtless devils ! yet may shine 

In glorious light, 
While sordid sons of Mammon's hne 

Are dark as night. 

Tho' here they scrape, an' squeeze, an' growl. 
Their worthless nievefu' of a soul 
May in some future carcase howl, 

The forest's fright ; 
Or in some day-detesting owl 

May shun the light. 

Then may Lapraik and Burns arise, 
To reach their native, kindred skies, 
And sing their pleasures, hopes, an' joys. 

In some mild sphere, 
Still closer knit in friendship's ties 

Each passing year ! 
Vet. I. Q 



242 poems, 



TO W. S*****N f 

OCHILTREE, 

May, 1785. 

I gat your letter, winsome Willie $ 
Wi' gratefu' heart I thank you brawlie \ 
Tho' I maun say't I wad be silly, 

An' unco vain, 
Should I believe, my eoaxin billie, 

Your flatt'nn strain. 

But I'se believe ye kindly meant it, 
I sud be laith to think ye hinted 
Ironic satire, sidelins sklented 

On my poor Musie ; 
Tho' in sic praisin terms ye've penn'd it, 

1 scarce excuse ye 

My senses wad be in a creel, 
Should I but dare a hope to speel, 
Wi* Allan, or wi' Gilhcrtfield, 

The braes o* fame ; 
Or Fer-gusson, the writer-ehiel, 

A deathless name. 






CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 243 

(O Fwgusson ! thy glorious parts 
III suited law's dry, musty arts ! 
My curse upon your whunstane hearts, 
Ye E'nbnrgh gentry ! 
The tythe o' what ye waste at cartes, 

Wad stow'd his pantry V) 

Yet when a tale comes i' my head, 
Or lasses gie my heart a screed, 
As whyles they're like to be my dead, 

(O sad disease !) 
I kittle up my rustic reed ; 

It gies me ease. 

Auld Coila now may fidge fu' fain, 
She's gotten Poets o* her aiu, 
Chiels wha their chanters winna hain. 

But tune their lays. 
Till echoes a* resound again 

Her weel sung praise 

Nae Poet thought her worth his while, 
To set her name in measur'd style ; 
She lay like some unkenn'd-of isle 

Beside New Holland, 
Or whare wild-meeting oceans boil 
Besouth Magellan. 

Ramsay an' famous Fergusson 
Gied Forth an' Tay a lift aboon ; 
Yarrow an' Tweed, to monie a tune, 

Owre Scotland rings, 
While Irwin, Lugar, Ayr, an' Doon % 

Nae body sings. 
Q 2 



244 poems, 

Th' Missus, Tiber, Thames, an' Seine s 
Glide sweet in rnonie a tnneftT line ! 
But, Willie, set your fit to mine, 

An' cock your crest, 
We'll gar out streams and burnies shine 

Up wi' the best. 

We'll sing auld Coilas plains an' fells, 
Her moors red-brown wi* heather-bells, 
Her banks an' braes, her dens an' dells, 

Where glorious Wallace 
Aft bure the gree, as story tells, 

Frae Southron billies* 

At Wallace' name what Scottish blood 

But boils up in a spring-tide flood ! 

Oft have our fearless fathers strode 

By Wallace' side, 

Still pressing onward, red-wat shod, 

Or glorious dy'd. 

O, sweet are Coila's hatighs an* woods, 
When lintwhites^chant amang the buds, 
And jinkin hares, in amorous whids, 

Their loves enjoy, 
While thro' the braes the cushat croods 

Wi' wailfu* cry I 

Ev'n winter bleak has charms to me, 
When winds rave thro' the naked tree ; 
Or frosts on hills of Ochiltree 

Are hoary gray; 
Or blinding drifts wild furious flee, 

Darkening the day! 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 245 

O Nature / a' thy shews an* forms 
To feeling pensive hearts hae charms ! 
Whether the summer kindly warms, 
Wi' life an' light, 
Or winter howls in gusty storms, 

The lang, dark night . 

The Muse, nae Poet ever fand her, 
Till by himsel he learn'd to wander, 
Adown some trotting burn's meander, 

An* no think lang ! 
O sweet, to stray an* pensive ponder 

A heart-felt sang ! 

The warly race may drudge an' drive, 
Hog-shouther, jundie, stretch, an' strive, 
Let me fair Nature's face descrive, 

And I, wi' pleasure, 
Shall let the busy, grumbling hive 

Bum owre their treasure. 

Farewell u ray rhyme-composing brifher ! w 
We've been owre lang unkenn'd to ither : 
Now let us lay our heads thegither, 

In love fraternal : 
May Envy wallop in a tether, 

Black fiend, infernal .' 

While Highlandmen hate tolls an 1 taxes ; 
While moorlan* herds like guid fat braxies ; 
While terra firma, on her axis 

Diurnal turns, 
Count on a friend, in faith an' practice, 
In Robert Burns, 



246 pokm§, 



POSTSCRIPT. 



My memory's no worth a preen 
I had arnaist forgotten clean, 
Ye bade me write yon what they mean 

By this new light* 
'Bout which our herds sae aft hae been 
Maistlike to fight. 

In days when mankind were but caliana 
At Grammar, Logic, and sic talents, 
They took nae pains their speech to balance 

Or rules to gie, 
But spak their thoughts in plain, braid Lalia 
Like you or me. 

In thae auld times they thought the moon* 
Just like a sark, or pair o' shoon, 
Wore, by degrees, till her last roon, 

Gaed past their vie win', 
An' shortly after she was done, 

They gat a new one.' 



• Nf-J-'-ligbty a cant phrase in the West of Scotland, for those reilgC 
e opir.icnis which Dr. Taylor of Norwich defended so strenuously 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 247 

This past for certain, undisputed ; 
It ne'er cam i* their beads to doubt it, 
Till cbiels gat up an* wad confute it, 
An* cad it wrang ; 
An' muckle din there was about it, 

Baith loud and lang. 

Some herds, weel learn'd upo' the beuk. 
Wad threap auld folk the thing misteuk ; 
For 'twas the auld moon tnrn'd a neuk, 

An' oat o' sight, 
An* backlins-comin, to the leuk, 

She grew mair bright. 

This was deny'd, it was affirm'd ; 
The herds an' hisstls were alarm'd ; 
The rev'rend grey-beards rav'd an' storm'd, 

That beardless laddies 
Should think they better were inform 'd 

Than their auld daddies, 

Frae less to mair it gaed to sticks ; 
Frae words an' aiths to clours an' nicks ; 
And monie a fallow gat bis licks, 

Wi' hearty crunt ; 
An' some, to learn them for their tricks, 

Where hangM an' brunt. 

This game was play'd in monie lands, 
An' auld light caddies bure sic hands, 
That faith, the youngsters took the s^nds 

Wi' nimble shanks, 
The Lairds forbade, by strict commands, 

Sic bluidy pranks. 



248 poems, 

Bat new-light herds gat sic a cowe, 
Folk thought them ruin'd stick- an'-stowe, 
Till now atnaist on ev'ry knowe, 

Ye'll find ane plac'd : 
An' some, their new-light fair avow, 

Just quite barefac'd. 

Nae doubt the auid-light flocks are bleatin ; 
Their zealous herds are vex'd an' sweatin ; 
Mysel, Fve even seen them greetin 
Wi* girnin spite, 
To hear the moon sae sadly lied on 

By word an* write. 

But shortly they will cowe the louns ! 
Some auld-light herds in neebor towns 
Are mind't, in things they ca' balloons^ 

to take a flight, 
An' stay ae month amang the moons 
An' see them right. 

Guid observation they will gie them ; 
An' when the auld moon's gaun to lea'e them, 
The hindmost shaird, they'll fetch it wi' them. 

Just 1' their pouch, 
An' when the new-light billies see them, 

I think they'll crouch \ 

Sae, ye observe that a' this clatter 
Is naething but a " moonshine matter;" 
But tho' dull prose-folk Latin splatter 

In logic tulzie, 
I hope, we bardies ken some better, 

Than mind sic brulzie 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 



EPISTLE TO J. R******, 



ENCLOSING SOME POEMS. 



O rough, rude, ready-witted R******, 
The wale o' cocks for fnn and drinkin ! 
There's monie godly folks are thinkin, 

Your dreams* an' tricks 
Will send you, Korah-like, a-sinkin, 

Straught to auld Nick's. 

Ye hae sae monie cracks an' cants, 
And in your wicked, drucken rants, 
Ye mak a devil o' the saunts, 

An' fill them fou ; 
And then their failings, flaws, an' wants, 
Are a* seen thro'. 

Hypocrisy, in mercy spare it ! 
That holy robe, O dinna tear it ! 
Spar't for their sakes wha aften w«r it, 

The lads in black ; 
But your curst wit, when it comes near it, 
Kives't aft" their bad:. 



* A certain humorous dream of his ins thei nnakJrc » xvclsc la 
rourdiy-sioe. 



250 POEMS, 

Think, wicked sinner, wha ye're skaithing, 
Ifs just the blue-goicn badge an' claithing 
O' saunts ; tak that, ye lea'e them naething 

To ken them by, 
Frae ony unregenerate heathen 

Like you or I. 

I've sent you here some rhyming ware, 
A' that I bargained for, an' mair ; 
Sae, when ye hae an hour to spare, 

I will expect 
Yon sang*, ye'll sen't wi' cannie care, 

And no neglect. 

Tho' faith, sraa* heart hae I to sing! 
My Muse dow scarcely spread her wing ! 
I've play'd mysel a bonnie spring, 

An' danc'd my fill! 
I'd better gaen an* sair'd the king, 

At Bunker's Hill. 

'Twas ae night, lately in my fun, 
I gaed a roving wi' the gun, 
An* brought a paitrick to the grim, 

A bonnie hen, 
An', as the twilight was begun, 

Thought nane wad ken. 

The poor wee thing was little hurt; 
I straikit it a wee for sport, 
Ne'er thinkin they wad fash me for't ; 

But deil-ma'-car^ ! 
Somebody tells the poacher-cow t 

The hale affair. 

• A (9ng he hiA promised the Author. 



CHIEFS SCOTTISH. 251 

Some auld tis'd hands had taen a note, 
That sic a hen had got a shot ; 
I was suspected for (he plot ; 

I scorn'd to lie, 
So gat the whissle o' my groat, 

An* pay't the fee . 

But, by my gun, o' guns the wale, 
An' by my pouther an' my hail, 
An* by my hen, an' by her tail, 

I vow an' swear ! 
The game shall pay o'er moor an' dale, 

For this, niest year. 

As soon's the clockin-time is by, 
An* the wee pouts begun to cry, 
Jj—d, I'se hae sportin by and by, 

For my gowd guinea, 
Tho' I should herd the buckskin kye 

For't in Virginia. 

Trowth, they had muckle for to blame! 
'Twas neither broken wing nor limb, 
But twa-three draps about the wame 

Scarce thro' the feathers; 
An' baith a yellow George to claim, 

An' thole their blethers ! 

It pits me ay as mad's a hare ; 
So I can rhyme nor write nae mair ; 
But pennyworths again is fair, 

When time's expedient! 
Meanwhile I am, respected Sir, 

Your most obedient* 



252 poems, 



DR. BLACKLOCK. 

Ellisland, Oct. 21, 1783. 
Wow, but your letter made me vauntie ! 
And are ye hale, and weel, and cantie ? 
I kenn'd it still your wee bit jauntie 

Wad bring ye to : 
Lord send you ay as weel's I want ye, 

And then ye'll do. 

The ill-thief blaw the Heron* south ! 
And never drink be near his drouth 
He tald mysel by word o' mouth, 

He'd tak my letter 
I lippen'd to the chiel in trouth 

And bade nae better. 

But aiblins honest Master Heron 
Had at the time some dainty fair one, 
To ware his theologic care on, 

And holy study ; 
And tir*d o' sauls to waste his iear on, 

E'en tried the bod v. 



* Mr. Heron, author of a History of Scotland, and of varices otocf 
works. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 253 

But what d'ye think, my trusty fier, 
I'm turn'd a guager — peace be here ! 
Parnassian queens, I fear, I fear 

Ye'll now disdain me, 
And then my fifty pounds a-year 

Will little gain me , 

Ye glaiket gleesome daintie d amies, 
Who by Castalia's wimplin streamies, 
Lowp, sing, and lave your pretty limbies, 

Ye ken, ye ken, 
That Strang necessity supreme is 

'Mang sons o' men. 

I hae a wife and twa wee laddies, 
They maun hae brose and brats o' duddies ; 
Ye ken yoursels my heart right proud is, 
I need na vaunt, 

But I'll sned besoms thraw saugh woodie» 

Before they want. 

Lord help me thro' this world o' care ! 
I'm weary sick o't late and air ! 
Not but I hae a richer share 

Than monie ithcrs ; 
But why should ae man better fare, 

And a' men brithers ? 

Come, Firm Resolve, take thou the van, 
Thou stalk o' carl-hemp in man ! 
And let us mind, faint heart ne'er wan 

A lady fair ; 
Wha does the utmost that he can, 

Will whvles do mair. 



254 poems, 

But to conclude ray silly rhyme, 
(I'm scant o* verse, and scant o' time,) 
To make a happy fire-side clime 

To weans and wife, 
That's the true pathos, and sublime 

Of human life. 

My compliments to sister Beckie ; 
And eke the same to honest Lucky, 
I wat she is a dainty chuckie, 

As e'er tread clay 
An' gratefully, my jruid auld cockie, 
I'm your's for ay, 

Robert Burst*. 



COLONEL DE PEYSTER, 



DUMFRIES, 1796. 

My honour'd Colonel, deep I feel 
Your interest in the Poet's weal ; 
Ah ! now sma* heart hae I to speel 

The steep Parnassus, 
Surrounded thus by bolus pill, 

And potion glasses. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 255 

O what a canty warlde were it, 
Would pain and care, and sickness spare it ; 
And fortune favour worth and merit, 

As they deserve ; 
,'And aye a rowth, roast-beef and claret : 
Syne wha wad starve?) 

Dame Life, tho' fiction out may trick her, 
And in paste gems and frippery deck her; 
Oh ! flickering, feeble, and unsicker 

I've found her still, 
Ay wavering like the willow wicker, 

'Tween good and ill. 

Then that curst carmagnole, anld Satan, 
Watches, like baudrans by a rattan, 
Our sinfu' saul to get a claut on 

Wi' felon ire ; 
Syne, whip ! his tail ye'll ne'er cast sauton, 
He's off like tire. 

Ah ! Nick ! ah Nick ! it is na fair, 
First shewing us the tempting ware, 
Bright wines and bonie lasses rare, 

To put us daft ; 
Syne weave, unseen, thy spider snare, 

O' hell's damn'd waft. 

Poor man the rlie, aft bizzes by, 
And aft as chance he comes thee nigh, 
Thy auld damn'd elbow yeuks wi' joy, 

And hellish pleasure ; 
Already in thy fancy's eye, 

Thy sicker treasure; 



256 P0EM3 f 

Soon heels o'er gowdie ! in he gangs, 
And like a sheep-head on a tangs, 
Thy girning laugh enjoys his pangs 

And murdering wrestle, 
As dangling in the wind, he hangs 
A gibbet's tassel. 

But lest you think I am uncivil, 
To plague you with this draunting drivel ; 
Abjuring a' intentions evil, 

I quat my pen : 
The Lord preserve us trae the devii! 

Amen ! Amen ! 



TO 

MR. MITCHELL, 

COLLECTOR OF EXCISE, DUMFRIES, 179b. 

Friend of the Poet, tried and leal, 
Wha wanting thee, might beg or steal j 
Alake, alake, the meikle deil 

Wi' a' his witches 
Are at it, skelpin ! jig and reel, 

In my poor pouches. , 



, 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH* 257 

I modestly fu' fain wad hint it, 
That one pound one, I sairly want it t 
If wi* the hizzie down ye sent it, 

It. would be kind; 
And while my heart wi' life-blood dunted,- 

I'd bear't in mind. 

So may the auld-year gang out moaning, 
To see the new come laden, groaning, 
Ni' double plenty o'er the loanin 

To thee and thine ; 
Domestic peace and comforts crowning 

The hale design. 



POSTSCRIPT 



Ye've heard this while how I've been ticket, 
4ndby fell Death was nearly nicket ; 
Grim loun ' he gat me by the fecket, 

And sair me sheuk ; 
But, by good luck, I lap a wicket, 

And turn'd a neuk. 

But by that health, I've got a share o'r, 
And by that life, I'm promis'd mair o't, 
My hale and weel I'll take a care o't, 

A tentier way : 
Then fareweel folly, hide and hair o't, 

For ance and aye. 

Vol. I. R 



258 poems, 



LETTER 



TO J S T T, GL— NO- 

Auld comrade dear and britber sinner. 
How's a' the folk about Gl— nc— r? 
How do you this blae eastlin wind, 
That's like to blaw a body blind ? 
For me my faculties are frozen, 
My dearest member nearly dozcn'd : 
I've sent you here by Johnnie Simson, 
Twa sage philosophers to glimpse on ; 
Smith, wi' his sympathetic feeling, 
An' Reid, to common sense appealing, 
Philosophers have fought an' wrangled, 
An* meikle Greek an' Latin mangled, 
Tiliwi' their logic-jargon tir'd, 
An' in the depth of science mir'd, 
To common sense they now appeal, 
What wives an' wabsters see an' feel : 
But, hark ye, friend, I charge you strict!?* 
Peruse them an* return them quickly ; 
For now I'm grown sae cursed douce> 
I pray an' ponder butt the house, 
My shins, my lane, I there sit roastin 
Perusing Bunyan, Brown, and Bostos; 
Till by an' by, if I hand on, 
I'll grunt a real Gospel groan : 
Already I begin to try it, 
To cast my een up like a pyet. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 259 

When by the gun she tumbles o'er, 
Fluttering an' gasping in her gore: 
Sae shortly you shall see me bright, 
A burning an' a shining light. 



My heart-warm love to guid auld Glen, 
The ace an' wale of honest men ; 
When bending down with auld grey hairs, 
Beneath the load of years and cares, 
May he who made him still support him, 
An' views beyond the grave comfort him. 
His worthy fam'Iy far and near, 
God bless them a' wi' grace and gear. 



My auld school-fellow, Preacher Willie, 
The manly tar, my mason Billie, 
Air* Auchenbay, I wish him joy; 
If he's a parent, lass or boy, 
May he be dad, an' Meg the mither, 
Just five-an'-forty years thegither! 
An' no forgetting wabster Charlie, 
I'm tauld he offers very fairly. 
An' L — d remember singing Sannock, 
Wi' hale breeks, saxpence, an' a bannock. 
An' next, my auld acquaintance, Nao«!v. 
Since she is fitted to her fancy ; 
An' her kind stars hae airted till her 
A guid chiel wi' a pickle siller. 
My kindest, best respects I sen' it, 
To cousin Kate an' sister Janet ; 
Tell them frae me, wi' chiels be cautious, 
Frr, faith, they'll aiblins fin' them fashions: 
R 2 



260 POEMS, 

To grant a heart is fairlv civil, 

But to grant a maidenhead's the devil ! 

An* lastly, Jamie, for yoursel, 

May guardian angels tak a spell, 

An' steer you seven miles south o' hell ; 

But first, before you see heav'n's glory, 

May ye get monie a merry story, 

Monie a lau»h, and monie a drink, 

An' ay eneugh o' needfu' clink. 

Now fare ye weel, an' joy be wi' you, 
For my sake this I beg it o* you, 
Assist poor Simson a' ye can, 
Ye'il fin' him just an honest man ; 
Sae I conclude an quat my chanter, 
Your's, saint or sinner, 

Rob the Ranter* 



TO THE 

GUIDWIFE OF WAUCHOPE-HOUSE, 

IK ANSWER TO AN EPISTLE WHICH SHE HAD 
SENT THE AUTHOR. 

GUIDWIFE, 

I mind it weel in early date, 

When I was beardless, young, and blate, 

And first could thresh the barn ; 
Or hand a yokin at the pleugh ; 
An* tho' forfoughten sair eneugh, 

Yet unco vroud to learn : 






'CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 261 

When first amang the yellow corn 

A man I reckon'd was, 
And wi' the lave ilk merry morn 
Could rank my rig and lass, 
Still shearing, and clearing 

The tither stooked raw, 
Wi* claivers, an* haivers, 
Wearing the day awa. 

E'en then, a wish, I mind its pow'r, 
A wish that to my latest hour 

Shall strongly heave my breast, 
That I for poor auld Scotland's sake 
Some usefu' plan or book could make, 

Or sing a sang at least. 
The rough burr-thistle, spreading wide 

Amang the bearded bear, 
I turn'd the weeder-clips aside, 
An' spar'd the symbol dear; 
No nation, no station, 

My envy e'er could raise, 
A Scot still, but blot still, 
I knew nae higher praise. 

Bin still the elements o' sang 

In formless jumble, right an* wrang, 

Wild floated in my brain ; 
Till on that har'st I said before, 
My partner in the merry core, 

She rous'd the forming strain : 
I see her yet, the sonsie quean, 

That lighted up her jingle, 
Her witching smile, her pauky e'en 

That gart my heart-strings tingle | 



262 poems, 

I fired, inspired, 

At every kindling keek, 
But bashing, and dasbing, 

I feared ay to speak. 

Hale to the set, ilk guid cbiel sayi, 
Wi' merry dance in winter-days, 

An' we to share in common : 
The gust o' joy, the balm of woe, 
The saul o' life, the heav'n below, 

Is rapture-giving woman. 
Ye surly sumphs, who hate the name, 

Be mindfu' o' your mither : 
She, honest woman, may think shame 
Thatye're connected with her. 
Ye're wae men, ye're nae men* 
That slight the lovely dears; 
To shame ye, disclaim ye, 
Ilk honest birkie swears. 

For you, na bred to barn or byre, 
Wha sweetly time the Scottish lyre, 

Thanks to you for your line. 
The marled plaid ye kindly spare, 
By me should gratefully be ware 3 

*'Twad please me to the Nine. 
I'd be mair vauntie o' my hap, 

Douse hinging o'er my curple. 
Tban ony ermiue ever lap, 
Or proud imperial purple, 

Fareweel then, lang hale theft; 

An* plenty be your fa' : 
May losses and crosses 
Ne'er at your hallan ca.' 
March, 1787. R, BURNS 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 263 



TO J. RANKEN, 

OS HIS WRITING TO THE AUTHOR THAT A GIRL 
WAS WITH CHILD BY HIM, 

I am a keeper of the law 

In some sraa' points, altho'not a' ; 

Some people tell me gin I fa', 

Ae way orither, 
The breaking of a point, tho' sma', 

Breaks a' thegither 
I hae been in for't ance or twice. 
And winna say, o'er far for thrice, 
Yet never met with that surprise 

That broke my rest, 
But now a rumour's like to rise, 

A whaup's i' the nest. 



ADDRESS 

TO AN ILLEGITIMATE CHILD- 

Thou's welcome wean, mishanter fa* rre, 
If ought of thee, or of thy mammy, 
Shall ever danton me, or awe me, 

My sweet wee lady, 
Or if I blush when thou shalt ca* me 

Tit-ta or daddy. 



264 poems, 

Wee image of my bonie Betty, 
I fatherly will kiss an* daut thee, 
As dear air* near my heart I set thee 

Wi' as glide will 
As a' the priests had seen me get thee 

That's out o' h-11. 

What tbo' they ca' me fornicator, 
An* tease my name in kin try-clatter : 
The mair they tauk I'm kent the better, 

E'en let them clash ; 
An auld wife's tongue's a feckless matter 

To gie ane fash. 

Sweet fruit o'monie a merry dint, 
My funny toil is now a'tint, 
Sin' thou came to the warT asklent, 

Which fools may scoff a 
In my last plack thy part's be in't— 

The better half o't. 

An' if thou be what I wad hae thee, 
An* tak the counsel I sail gie thee, 
A lovin father I'll be to thee, 

If thou be spar'd ; 
Thro* a' thy childish years I'll e'e thee, 

An't think't weel war*d 

Gude grant that thou may ay inherit 
Thy mither's person, grace, an' merit, 
An' thy poor worthless daddy's spirit, 

Without his failins, 
'Twill please me mair to hear an' see't, 

Than stocket mailina 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 265 



A TAILOR, 



IN ANSWER TO AN EPISTLE WHICH HE HAD SERt 
THE AUTHOR. 



What ails ye now, ye lousie b — h, 
To thresh my back at sic a pitch ? 
Losh man ! hae mercy wi' your natch, 

Your bodkin's bauld, 
I did nae suffer half sae much 

Frae Daddie Auld. 

What tho' at times when I grow crouse, 
I gie their wames a random pouse, 
Ts that enough for you to souse 

Your servant sae ? 
Gae mind your seam, ye prick the louse, 

An' jag the flae. 

King Da*id o* poetic brief, 
Wrought 'mang the lasses sic mischief 
As fill'd his after life wi* grief 

An' bloody rants, 
An* yet he's rank'd amang the chief 

O' lang syne saunts. 



266 POEMS, 

And maybe, Tam, for a' my cants, 
My wicked rhymes, an' drucken rants, 
I'll gie auld cloven Clooty's haunts 

An unco slip yet, 
An* snugly git amang the saunts, 

At Davie's hip yet 

? But fegs, the Session says I maun 
Gae fa* upo' anither plan, 
Than garren lasses cowp the cran 

Clean heels owre body, 
And sairly thole their mither's ban, 

Afore the howdy. 

This leads me on, to tell for sport, 
How I did with the Session sort — 
Auld Clinkum at the inner port 

Cry'd three times " Robin ! 
Come hither lad, an* answer for't, 

Ye're blam'dfor jobbin.** 

Wi' pinch I put a Sunday's face on, 
An* snoov'd awa' before the Session — 
I made an open, fair confession, 

I scorn'd to lie ; 
An* syne Mess John, beyond expression, 
Fell foul o' me. 

A fornicator loun he call'd me, 
Air* said my faut frae bliss expell'd me 
I own'd the tale was true he tell'd me, 

"But what the matter, ' 
Quo' I, " I fear unless ye geld me, 

I'll ne'er be better * 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH* 267 

" Geld you !" quo' he, " and whatfore no, 
If tliat your right hand, leg, or toe, 
Shoold ever prove your sp'ritual foe, 

You shou'd remember 
To cut it aff, an' whatfore no 

Your dearest member.'' 

•• Na, na," quo' I, rt I'm no for that, 
Gelding's nae better than 'tis ca't, 
I'd ratlier suffer for my faut, 

A hearty flewit, 
As sair owre hip as ye can draw't ! 

Tho' I should rue it. 

'* Or gin ye like to end the bother, 
To please us a', I've just ae ither, 
When next wi' yon lass I forgather, 

Whate'er betide it, 
I'll frankly gie her't a' thegither, 

An* let her guide it." 

But, Sir, this pleas'd them warst ava % 
An* therefore, Tarn, when that I saw, 
I said " Guid night/' and cam awa', 

An' left the Session ; 
I saw they were resolved a* 

On my oppression. 



268 poems, 



TO 

MR. WILLIAM TYTLER, 

WITH A PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR. 

Revered defender of beauteous Stuart, 

Of Stuart, a name once respected, 
A name, which to love was the mark of a true heart 

But now 'tis despised and neglected. 

Tho' something like moisture conglobes in my eye, 

Let no one misdeem me disloyal ; 
A poor friendless wandrer may well claim a sigh, 
, Still more, if that wand'rer were royal. 

My fathers that name have rever'd on a throne ; 

My fathers have fallen to right it ; 
Those fathers would spurn their degenerate son, 

That name should he scoffingly slight it. 

Still in prayers for K— G — I most heartily join^ 
The Q— , and the rest of the gentry, 

Be they wise, be they foolish, is nothing of mine r 
Their title's avow'd by my country. 

But why of this epocha make such a fuss, 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 209 

But loyalty truce ! we're on dangerous ground, 
Who knows how the fashions may alter ? 

The doctrine to-day that is loyalty sound, 
To-morrow may bring us a haitei-. 

I send you a trifle, a head of a Bard, 

A trifle scarce worthy your care ; 
But accept it, good Sir, as a mark of regard, 

Sincere as a saint's dying prayer. 

Now life's chilly evening dim shades on your eye, 

And ushers the long dreary night : 
But you, like the star tha' athwart gilds the sky, 

Your course to the latest is bright. 



EPISTLE 

TO R. GRAHAM, ESQ. OF FINTRA. 

When Nature her great master-piece design'd, 
And fram'd her last, best work, the human mind, 
Her eye intent on all the mazy plan, 
She formM of various parts the various man. 

Then first she calls xhe useful many forth ; 
Plain, plodding industry, and sober worth : 
Thence peasants, farmers, native sons of earth, 
And merchandise' whole genus take their birth: 
Each prudent cit a warm existence finds, 
And »A\ mechanics' many apron* d kinds. 



270 POEMS. 

Some other rarer sorts are wanted yet, 
The iead and buoy are needful to the net : 
The caput tnortuum of gross desires 
Makes a material for mere knights and squires ; 
The martial phosphorus is taught to flow, 
She kneads the lumpish, philosophic dough, 
Then marks th' unyielding mass with grave designs 
Law, physics, politics, and deep divines : 
Last, she sublimes th' Aurora of the poles, 
The flashing elements of female souls. 

The order* d system fair before her stood. 
Nature, well-pleasM, pronounc'd it very good ; 
But ere she gave creating labour o'er, 
Half-jest, she try'd one curious labour more. 
Some spumy, fiery ignis fatuus matter; 
Such as the slightest breath of air might scatter ; 
With arch-alacrity and conscious glee, 
(Nature may have her whim as well as we, 
Her Hogarth-art perhaps she meant to show it) 
She forms the thing, and christens it— a poet. 
Creature, tho' oft the prey of care and sorrow, 
When blest to-day unmindful of to-morrow, 
A being form'd t' amuse his graver friends, 
Admir'd and prais'd — and there the homage ends : 
A mortal quite unfit for Fortune's strife, 
Yet oft the sport of all the ills of life ; 
Prone to enjoy each pleasure riches give, 
Yet haply wanting wherewithal to live : 
Longing to wipe each tear, to heal each groan, 
Yet frequent all unheeded in his own. 

But honest Nature is not quite a Turk, 
She iaugh'd at first, then felt for her poor work. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 271 

Pitying the propless climber of mankind, 

She cast about a standard-tree to find ; 

And, to support his helpless woodbine state, 

Attach'd him to the generous truly great, 

A title, and the only one I claim, 

To lay strong hold for help on bounteous Graham, 



Pity the tuneful Muses' hapless train, 
Weak, timid landmen on life's stormy main ! 
Their hearts no selfish, stern, absorbent stuff, 
That never gives — tho' huuibly takes enough ; 
The little fate allows, they share as soon, 
Unlike sage, proverb'dWisdom'shard-wrung boon. 
The world were blest did bliss on them depend, 
Ah ! that " the friendly e'er should want a friend V 
Let prudence number o'er each sturdy son, 
Who life and wisdom at one race begun, 
Who feel by reason, and who give by rule, 
(Instinct's a brute, and sentiment a fool !) 
Who make poor Will do wait upon / should— 
We own they're prudent, but who feels they're good? 
Ye wise ones, hence ! ye hurt the social eye ! 
God's image rudely etch'd on base alloy ! 
But come ye who the god-like pleasure know, 
Heaven's attribute distinguished — to bestow! 
Whose arms of love would grasp the human racet 
Come tltau who giv'st with all a courtier's grace ; 
Friend of my life, true patron of my rhymes ! 
Prop of my dearest hopes for future times, 
Why shrinks my soul half-blushing, half-afraid, 
Backward, abash'd to ask thy friendiy aid ? 
I know my need. I know thy giving band, 
I crave thy friendship at thy kind command ; 



272 POEMS, 

But there are such who court the tuneful nine- 
Heavens J should the branded character be mine ! 
Whose verse in manhood's pride sublimely flows, 
Yet vilest reptiles in their begging prose. 
Mark, how their lofty, independent spirit 
Soars on the spurning wing of injur'd merit ! 
Seek not the proofs in private life to find ; 
Pity the best of words should be but wind ! 
So to heaven's gates the lark's shril! song ascends, 
But groveling on the earth the carol ends. 
In all the clam'rous cry of starving want, 
They dun benevolence with shameless front j 
Oblige them, patronize their tinsel lays, 
They persecute you all your future days ! 
Ere my poor soul such deep damnation stain, 
My horny fist assume the plough again ; 
The piebald jacket let me patch once more ; 
On eighteen-pence a-week I've liv'd before. 
Tho', thanks to Heaven, I dare even thatiastshift; 
I trust, meantime, my boon is in thy gift : 
That plac'd by thee upon the wish'd-for height, 
Where, Man and Nature fairer in her sight, 
My Muse may imp her wing for some sublimer 
flight. 



TO THE SAME. 

Late crippFd of an arm, and now a leg, 
About to beg a pass for leave to beg ; 
Dull, listless, teas'd, dejected, and deprest^' 
(Nature is adverse to a cripple's rest. 7 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 2/3 

Will generous Graham list to his Poet's wail ? 
(It soothes poor Misery hearkening to her tale) 
And hear him curse the light he first survey'd, 
And doubly curse the luckless, rhyming trade ? 

Thou, Nature, partial Nature, I arraign ; 
Of thy caprice maternal I complain. 
The lion arid the bull thy care have found, 
One shakes the forest, and one spurns the ground * 
I *iou giv'st the ass his hide, the snail his shell, 
Til envenom'd wasp, victorious, guards his cell. — 
Thy minions, kings, defend, control, devour, 
In all th' omnipotence of rule and power. — 
Foxes and statesmen, subtile wiles ensure ; 
The cit and polecat stink, and \ re secure. 
Toads with their poison, doctorN with their drti£, 
The priest and hedgehog in their robes are snug. 
Ev'n silly woman has her warlike arts, 
Her tongue and eyes, her dread c d spear and darts* 

But oh ! thou bitter step-mother and hard, 
To thy poor, fenceless, nafe.< d child — the Bard ^ 
A thing unteachable in worldly skill, 
And half an idiot too, more lelpless still. 
No heels to bear him from tl e op'ning dun ; 
No claws to dig, his hated sight to shun ; 
No horns, but those by luckless Hymen worn, 
And those, alas ! not Amalthea's horn ; 
No nerves olfact'ry, mammon's trusty cur, 
Clad in rich dulness* comfortable fur, 
In naked feeling, and in aching pride, 
He hears th' unbroken blast from ev ry side 
Vampyre booksellers drain him totne heart, 
At'd scorpion critics cureless venom dart. 

Vol. I S 



2/4 POEMS, 

Critics— appall'd I venture on the name, 
Those cut-throat bandits in the paths of fame : 
Bloody dissectors, worse than ten Monroes ; 
He hacks to teach, they mangle to expose. 

His heart by causeless, wanton malice wrung, 
By blockheads* daring into madness stung; 
His well-won bays, than life itself more dear, 
By miscreants torn, who ne'er one sprig must wear ; 
Foil'd, bleeding, tortur'd. in the unequal strife, 
The hapless Poet flounders on thro* life. 
Till fled each hope that once his bosom fir'd, 
And fled each Muse that glorious once inspir'd 
Low sunk in squalid, unprotected age, 
Dead, even resentment, for his injur* d page, 
He heeds or feels no more the ruthless critic's rage! 

So, by some hedge, the generous steed deceas'd* 
For half-starv'd, snarling curs a dainty feast ; 
By toil and famine wore to skin and bone, 
Lies senseless of each tugging bitch's son. 

O Dulness ! portion of the truly blest ! 
Calm shelter'd haven of eternal rest I 
Thy sons ne'er madden in the fierce extremes 
Of Fortune's polar frost, or torrid beams. 
If mantling high she fills the golden cup, 
With sober, selfish ease they sip it up : 
Conscious the bounteous meed they well deserve, 
They only wonder " some folks" do not starve. 
^The grave sage hern thus easy picks his frog, 
And thinks the mallard a sad worthless dog. 
When disapointment snaps the clue of hope, 
And thro' disastrous night they darkling grope, 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 275 

With deaf endurance sluggishly they bear, 
And just conclude that " fools are Fortune's care." 
So, heavy, passive to the tempest's shocks, 
Strong on the sign-post stands the stupid ox. 

Not so the idle Muses' mad-cap train, 
Not such the workings of their moon-struck brain ; 
In equanimity they never dwell, 
By turns in soaring heav'n or vaulted hell. 

I dread thee, Fate, relentless and severe, 
With all a Poet's, Husband's, Father's fear ! 
Already one strong hold of hope is lost, 
Glencairn, the truly noble, lies in dust ; 
(Fled, like the suneclips'd at noon appears, 
And left us darkling in a world of tears :) 
Oh ! hear my ardent, grateful, selfish pray*r ! 
Fintra, my other stay, long bless and spare ! 
Thro* a long life his hopes and wishes crown ; 
And bright in cloudless skies his sun go down ! 
May bliss domestic smooth his private path ; 
Give energy to life and sooth his latest breath, 
With many a filial tear circling the bed of death, 



TO THE SAME, 

ON RECEIVING A FAVOUR. 

I call no goddess to inspire my strains, 
A fabled Muse may suit a bard that feigns : 
Friend of my life! my ardent spirit burns, 
And all the tribute of my heart returns, 
For boons accorded, goodness ever new, 
The gift still dearer, as the giver you 
S 2 



2/6 POEMS, 

Thou orb of day! thou other paler light 1 
And all ye many sparkling stars of night , 
If alight that giver from my mind efface . 
If I that giver's bounty e'er disgrace; 
Then roll to me, along your wandering sphere*. 
Only to number out a villain's years ! 



TO A GENTLEMAN 

WHOM THE AUTHOR HAD OFFENDED. 

The friend whom wild from wisdom's way, 
The fumes of wine infuriate send ; 

(Not moony madness more astray ;) 
Who but deplores that hapless friend? 

Mine was the insensate frenzied part, 
Ah why should I such scenes outlive ! 

Scenes so abhorrent to my heart ! 
'Tis thine to pity and forgive. 



TO A GENTLEMAN 

WHO had sent him a newspaper and offered 

TO CONTINUE IT FREE OF EXPENSE. 

Kind Sir, Fve read your paper through, 
And faith, to me, 'twas really new I 
How guess'd ye, Sir, what maist I wanted? 
This monie a day I've grain' d and gauuted, 
To ken what French mischief was brewiu ; 
Or what the drumlie Dutch were doing 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 277 

That vile doup-skelper, Emperor Joseph, 
If Venus yet had got his nose off; 
Or how the oollieshangie works 
Atween the Russians and the Turks ; 
Or if the Swede, before he halt, 
Would play auither Charles the Twatt ; 
If Denmark, any body spak o't ; 
Or Poland, wha had now the tack o't ; 
How cut-throat Prussian blades were hingin, 
How libbet Italy was singin ; 
If Spaniard, Portuguese, or Swiss, 
Were sayin or takin aught amiss : 
Or how our merry lads at hame, 
In Britain's court kept up the game ; 
How royal George, the Lord leuk o'er him ! 
Was managing St. Stephen's quorum; 
If sleekit Chatham Wiil was livin, 
Or glaikit Charlie got his nieve in ; 
How daddie Burke the plea was cookin, 
If Warren Hastings' neck was yeukin ; 
How cesses, stents, and fees were rax'd, 
Or if bare a— s yet were tax'd ; 
The news o* princes, dukes, and earls, 
Pimps, sharpers, bawds, and opera-girls j 
If that daft buckie, Geordie W***s, 
Was threshin still at hizzies* tails, 
Or if he was grown oughtlins douser, 
And no a perfect kintra cooser ; 
A' this and mair I never heard of ; 
And but! r you I might despair'd of. 
So, gratefu', back your news I send yon, 
And pray, a' guid things may attend you 
Ellis land, 1 7 9a - 



2/8 POEMS, 

SKETCH, 

TO MRS. DUNLOP, ON NEW-YEAR'd *4f 

This day, Time winds the exhausted cWk, 
To run the twelvemonth's length again 
I see the old, bald pated fellow, 
With ardent eyes, complexion sallow, 
Adjust the unimpair'd machine, 
To wheel the equal, dull routine 



The absent lover, minor heir, 
In vain assail him with their prayer , 
Deaf as my friend, he sees them pnss, 
Nor makes the hour one moment lew*. 
Will you (the Major's with the hounds, 
The happy tenants share his rounds ; 
Coila's fair Rachel's care to-day. 
And blooming Keith's engaged with Gray) 
From housewife cares a minute borrow- 
That grandchild's cap will do to-morrow-** 
And join with me a moralizing, 
This day's propitious to be wise in. 
First, what did yesternight deliver? 
u Another year is gone forever." 
And what is this day's strong suggestion 
11 The passing moment's all we rest on!** 
Rest on — for what ? what do we here ? 
©r why regard the passing year ? 






CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 2/9 

Will Time, amus'd with pro verb* d'ivre, 
Add to our date one minute more? 
A few days may — a few years must- 
Repose us in the si tut dust. 
Then is it wise to damp our bliss r 
Yes — all such reasonings are ami^s ! 
The ?rfl_ of nature loudly cries, 
And many a message from the skies, 
That something in us never dies ; 
That on this frail, uncertain state, 
Hang matters of eternal weight ; 
That future life, in worlds unknown 
Must take its hue from this alone ; 
Whether as heavenly glory bright, 
Or dark as misery's woeful night. — 
Since then, my honour'd, first of friends, 
On this poor being all depends; 
Let us the important now employ, 
And live as those that never die. 
Tho' you with days and honours crowed, 
Witness that filial circle round, 
(A sight life's sorrows to repulse, 
A sight pale envy to convulse,) 
Others now claim your chief regard: 
Yourself, you wait your bright reward. 



280 poems, 



THE 



AULD FARMER'S 



NEW-YEAR MO SALUTATION TO HIS 

AULD MARE, MAGGIE, 

ON GIVING HER THE ACCUSTOMED RiPP OF COR* 
TO hi ANSEL IN THE NEW YEAR. 



A guid new year I wish thee, Maggie I 
Hae, there's a ripp to thy auld baggie : 
Too' thou's howe-backit, now, an' knaggie, 

I've seen the day 
Thou could hae gaen like onie staggie 

Out-owre the lay. 

Tho' now thou's dowie, stiff, an* crazy, 
A»V thy auld hide's as white's a daisy, 
I've seen thee dappl'd, sleek, and glazie, 

A bonie gray : 
He should been tight that dayr't to raise th«e, 

Auee in a day. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. ~ 281 

Thou ance was i' the foremost rank, 
A filly, buirdly, steeve, an' swank, 
An' set weel down a shapely shank, 

As e'er tread yird ; ] 
An* could hae flown out owre a stank, 

Like onie bird. 

It's now some nine-an'-twenty year, 
Sin' thou was my guid father's meere ; 
He gied me thee, o' tocher clear. 

An* fifty mark ; 
Tho' it was sma', 'twas weel-won gear, 

An' thou was stark. 

When first I gaed to woo my Jenny , 
Ye then was trottin wi' your minnie : 
Tho' ye was trickie, slee, an* funnie, 

Ye ne'er was donsie ; 
But namely, tawie, quiet, an' cannie, 

An' unco sonsie. 

That day, ye pranc'd wi' muckle pride, 
When ye bure hame my borne oride ; 
An' sweet an' gracefn' she did ride, 

Wi' maiden air ! 
Kyle Stewart I could bragged wide, 
For sic a pair, 

Tho' now ye dow but hoyte and hobble, 
An* wintle like a saumont-cobble, 
That day ye was a jinker noble, 

For heels an* win' . 
An' ran them till they a' did waubte, 
Far far behin', 



282 poems, 

When thou an* I were young an* skeigb, 
An' stable-meats at fairs were dreigh, 
How thou wad prance, an' snore an' akreigb, 

An' tak the road! 
Town's bodies ran, and stood abeigh, 

An' ca't thee mad. 

When thou was com't, an* I was mellow, 
We took the road ay like a swallow : 
At Brooses thou had ne'er a fellow, 

For pith an' speed ; 
But ev'rytail thou pay't them hollow, 

Whare'er thou gaed. 

' Thesma', droop-rumpl't, hunter-cattle, 
Might aiblins waur't thee for a brattle ; 
But sax .Scotch miles, thou try't their mettle 

An* gar t them whaizle : 
Kae whip nor spin, but just a wattle 

O' saugh or hazel. 

Thou was a noble fittie-lan*, 
As e'er in tug or tow was drawn ! 
Aft thee an* I, in aught hours gaun, 

On guid March- weather, 
Hae turn'd sax rood beside our nan' 

For days thegither. 

Thou never braindgt, an' fech't, and fliskit, 
But thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit, 
An' spread abreed thy weel-fill'd brisket, 

Wi' pith and pow'r, 
Till spritty knowes wad rair't and risket, 
An' sly pet owre. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 283 

When frosts lay lang, an* snaws were deep, 
An* threaten'd labour back to keep, 
I gied thy cog a wee-bit heap 

A boon the timmer ; 
I ken'd my Maggie wad na sleep 

For that, or simmer t 

In cart or car thou never reestit ; 
The steyest brae thou wad hae fac'd it : 
Thou never lap, and sten't and breastit, 

Then stood to blaw ; 
But just thy step a wee thing hastit, 
Thou snoov'tawa. 

My plengh is now thy bairn time a': 
Four gallant brutes as e'er did draw : 
Forbye sax mae, I've sell't awa, 

That thou hast nurst : 
They drew rae thretteen pund an* twa, 

The very warst. 

Monie a sair daurk we twa hae wrought, 
An' wi' the weary warl' fought ? 
An* monie an anxious day, I thought 

We wad be beat ! 
Yet here to crazy age we're brought, * 

Wi' something yet, ■ . 

An* think na, my auld, trusty servan', 
That now perhaps thou's less deservin, 
An' thy auld days may end in starvin. 

For my last /oh, 
A heaptt stimpart, I'll reserve ane 
Laid by for you* 



284 poems, 

We've worn to crazy years thegither ; 
We'll toyte about wi' ane anither ; 
Wi' tentie care I'll flit thy tether, 

To some hain'd rig, 
Whare ye may nobly rax your leather, 
Wi' sma' fatigue. 



THE DEATH AND DYING WORDS OF POOR 
MAILIE, 

THE AUTHOR'S ONLY FET YOWE J 

An unco mournfu 9 Tale. 

As BJailie, an' her lambs thegither, 
Were ae day nibbling on the tether, 
Upon her cloot she coost a hitch, 
An' ovvre she warsl'd in the ditch : 
There, groaning, dying, she did lie, 
When Hughoc* he came doytin by, 

Wi' glowi in een, an' lifted ban's 
Poor Hughos like a statue Stan's ; 
He saw her days were near-hand ended, 
But, waes my heart J he could namend it! 
He gaped wide, but naething spak ! 
At length poor Mailie silence brak, 

* A neighbour herd-callan. 






CHIEFLY^SCOTTISH. 285 

<( O thou, whase lamentable face 
Appears to mourn my woefV case ! 
My dying words attentive hear, 
An' bear them to my master dear. 

" Tell him, if e'er again he keep 
As muckle gear as buy a sheep, 
O, bid him never tie them mair 
Wi* wicked strings o* hemp or hair I 
But ca* them out to park or hill, 
An* let them wander at their will ; 
So may his flock increase, an' grow 
To scores o* lambs, an' packs o* woo r* 

" Tell him he was a master kin,' 
An* ay was guid to me and mine; 
An' now my dying charge I gie him, 
My helpless lambs I trust them wi' him. 

** O, bid him save their harmless lives 
Frae dogs, an' tods, an' butchers' knives ! 
But gie them guid cow-milk their fill, 
Till they be fit to fend themsel : 
An* tent them duly, e'en an' morn, 
Wi' teats o* hay an* rips o* corn. 

" An' may they never learn the gaets 
Of ither vile wanrestfu' pets ! 
To slink thro' slaps, an' reave, an steal, 
At stacks o' pease, or stocks o' kail, 
So may they, like their great forbears, 
For monie a year come thro* the shears ; 
So wives will gie them bits o' breaa, 
An' oairns greet for them when they'r dead. 



286 poems, • 

u My poor toop-lamb, my son an* heir, 
O, bid him breed him up vvi' care ! 
An\ if he live to be a beast, 
To pit some havins in his breast ! 
An' warn him, what I winna name, 
To stay content wi' yowes at name ; 
An' no to rin an* wear his cloots, 
L„ke ither menseless, graceless brutes. 

" An' niest my yowie $ silly thing, 
Gndt keep thee frae a tether-string ! 
O, may thou ne'er forgather up 
"Wi* ony blastit, moorland toop ; 
But ay keep mind to moop an' mell 
Wi' sheep o* credit like thysel ! 

" And now, my bairns, wi' my last breath, 
I lea'e my blessin wi' you baith : 
An' when you think upo' your Mither, 
Mind to be kin' to ane anither. 

u Now, honest Hup-hoc, dinna fail, 
To tell my master a' my tale ; 
An* bid him burn this cursed tether, 
An', for thy pains, thou'se get my blether." 

This said, poor Mailie turn d her head, 
An' clos'd her een amang the dead, 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 287 

POOR MAILIE'S ELEGY. 

Lament in rhyme, lament in prose, 
\\T saut tears trickling down your nose ; 
Our bardie's i<*te is at a close, 

Past a' remead ; 
The last sad cap-stane of his woes ; 

Poor Mailie' s dead 

It's no the loss o' warl's gear, 
That could sae bitter draw the tear, 
Or make our bardie, dowie, wear 

The mourning weed . 
He's lost a friend and neebor dear, 

In Mailie dead. 

Thro' a' the toun she trotted by him ; 
A lang half-mile she could descry him ; 
Wi' kindly bleat, when she did spy him, 

She ran wi' speed : 
A friend mair faithfu' ne'er cam nigh him 

Than Mailie dead. 

I wat she was a sheep o" sense, 
An' could behave hersel wi' mense : 
I'll say't, she never brak a fence, 

Thro' thievish greed ; 
Our bardie, lanely, keeps the spence, 

Sin' Mailie* s dead. 

Or, if he wanders up the howe, 
Her living image in her yowe y 
Comes bleating to him, owre the knowe, 

For bits o' bread ; 
An* down the briny pearls rowe * 

Far Mailie dead. 



288 POEMS, CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 

She was nae get o' moorland tips, 
Wi' tawted ket, an' hairy hips ; 
For her forbears were brought in ships " 

Frae yont the Tweed j 
A bonier fleesh ne'er crossed the clips 

Than Mailie dead. 

Wae worth the man wha first did shape 
That vile, wanchancie thing— a rape I 
It maks guid fellows girn an* gape. 

Wi' chockiu dread ; 
An* Robin's bonnet wave wi' crape, 

For Mailie dead. 

r O, a' ye bards on bonie Boon ! y 
An' wha on Ayr your chanters tune I ) 
Come join the melancholious croon 

O* Robin's reed \ 
ilk heart will never get aboon ! 

His Mailie dSfcdL 



POEMS, 

CHIEFLY 

SCOTTISH. 

its FIVE BOOKS. 



CONTENTS 



THE SECOND VOLUME 



BOOK IV. 

HUMOROUS, SATIRICAL, EP1GRAMM& 
TICAL,AND MISCELLANEOUS. 

PAGE. 

Tam o* Shanter 9 

Halloween • 20 

The Jolly Beggars 31 

Death and Dr. Hornbook 44 

A Dream •• 51 

Scotch Drink .57 

The Author's earnest Cry and Prayer ... ... 62 

Address to the Deil 69 

On the late Captain Grose's Peregrinations 
through Scotland, collecting the Antiquities 

of that Kingdom 74 

Lines, written in a Wrapper, inclosing a Let- 
ter to Captain Grose 76 

Epigram on Captain Grose , ... 7§ 

Lines on an Interview with Lord Daer».. • -. *8 
The Inventory ... .. ... ... to 



4 CONTENTS, 

PAGE. 

To a Louse, on seeing one on a Lady's Bonnet 

at Church ... » 83 

Address to the Tooth-Ache ... 85 

To a Haggis * 86 

The Holy Fair ... 88 

The Ordination 98 

Address to the unco Guid, or the rigidly 

Righteous 103 

The Twa Herds 106 

The Calf 110 

Holy Willie's Prayer Ill 

Epitaph on Holy Willie ~ 114 

The Kirk's Alarm ., 115 

Letter to John Goudie, Kilmarnock 119 

A Dedication to Gavin Hamilton, Esq. . . 120 
Lines addressed to Mr. John Ranken ... *., 125 
Lines, written by Burns, while on his Death- 
bed, to the same • ... 125 

Extempore on the late Mr. William Smellie. . 126 
— — — to Mr. S**e, on refusing to dine 
with him, after having been promised the 

first of Company, and the first of Cookery 127 
— — — to Mr. S**e, with a Present of a 

Dozen of Porter 127 

written in answer to a Card from 



an intimate of the Author, inviting him to 

spend an hour at a Tavern •• 128 

■ — written in a Lady's Pocket-Book 128 

Lines on Miss J. Scott, of Ayr 128 

on being asked, why God had made Miss 

Davis so little, and Mrs. *** so large 129 

— written under the Picture of the cele- 
brated Miss Burns ».. ^ ... ... ••• 129 



CONTENTS, 5 

PAGE. 

Lines written and presented to Mrs. Kemble, 
on seeing her in the Character of Yarico... 129 

Lines written on the Windows of the Globe 
Tavern, Dumfries 130 

~ - written on a Window, at the King's 
Arms Tavern, Dumfries ... ... ... ... 131 

A Verse, presented by the Author to the Mas- 
ter of a House, at a place in the Highlands, 
where he had been hospitably entertained. 131 

Epigram on the Neglect of an Inn-keeper .. 132 

' ■ on Elphinstone's Translation of Mar- 
tial's Epigrams 133 

Verses written on a Window of the Inn at 
Carron • 133 

Epitaph on a celebrated ruling Elder 133 

■ on a noisy Polemic 133 

on wee Johnny ... J 34 

for G. H. Esq 134 

■ on a Wag in Mauchline 134 

■ on John Dove, Inn-keeper, Mauchline 135 

■ on Walter S 135 

■ on a henpecked Country Sqoire ... 136 

Epigram on said Occasion 136 

Another ... 136 

On the Death of a Lap-dog, named Echo.... 137 

Impromptu on Mrs. '» Birth-day .... ... 137 

Monody on a Lady famed for her Caprice... 138 

The Epitaph 139 

Ode, sacred to the Memory of Mrs. — , of 139 

The henpecked Husband 140 

Elegy on the year 1788 141 

Tarn Samson's Elegy 143 

The Epitaph ... \ 146 



6 CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

Elegy on Captain Matthew Henderson 147 

The Epitaph *51 

On a Scotch Bard, gone to the West Indies. 152 

On Pastoral Poetry 154 

Prologue, spoken at the Theatre, Ellisland, 

on New-Year Day Evening 156 

■ spoken by Mr. Woods, on his Benefit- 
Night 158 

The Rights of Woman, an occasional Address, 
spoken by Miss Fontenelie, on her Benefit- 
Night 160 

Address, spoken by Miss Fontenelie, on her 

Benefit-Night, at the Theatre, Dumfries... 161 
Fragment, inscribed to the Right Hon. C. J. 

Fox 163 

Inscription for an Altar to Independence 165 

Address to Edinburgh ••• ... ... 165 



BOOK V. 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 

A Vision ... 163 

Bannockburn. — Bruce's Address to his Army 170 

Song of Death 171 

Imitation of an old Jacobite Song ...172 

The Lovely lass or Inverness 173 

The absent Warrior. — " O Logan, sweetly 

didst thou glide" 174 

The Warrior's Return. — " When wild war's 

deadly blast was blawn" — . 175 



CONTENTS. 7 

AGE. 

Lord Gregory • ... 178 

Open the door to me, oh ! ... 179 

The Intreaty. — a Let me in this ae night"... 180 
The Answer. — " O tell name o' wind and rain" 181 
The forlorn Lover. — u Forlorn, my love, no 

comfort near" >•• 182 

The dreary Night 183 

Poortithcauld". 184 

Clarinda 186 

Isabella. — " Raving wind* around her blowing" 186 

Wandering Willie 187 

The parting Kiss 188 

The roaring Ocean 189 

Fair Eliza.—" Turn again, thou fair Eliza" 190 
Eliza.— " Farewell thuu stream that winding 

flows" 191 

Departure of Nancy ...192 

My Name's awa \ 193 

Gloomy December ... ... ... 194 

The Braes o' P-allochmyle 195 

Banks o' Doon •• 196 

Craigie-burn 197 

The cheerless soul. — " Again rejoicing nature 

sees" 198 

The disconsolate Lover. — u Now spring has 

clad the «roves in green" . ... 199 

Mary Morison 201 

Fair Jenny. — u Where are the joys [have met 

in tie morning?" 202 

Address to the Wood-lark ... ... 203 

Fragment in Witherspoon's Collection of 

Scots Songs «•• 204 

Addresss to a Lady * ... 205 



8 CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

TheauldMan ,. • * 205 

John Anderson my jo 206 

Auld lang syne , • ... 207 

Hopeless Love.— H Blithe hae I been on yon 

hiir 208 

Banks of Nith 209 

Banks of Cree ... 210 

Castle Gordon 211 

Afton Water ... 2t2 

The Sacred Vow. — " By Allan stream I 

chanc'd to rove" •• 213 

The Rigs o' Barley 214 

The Lea-Rig ... 216 

The Lass o' Ballochmyle 217 

BonieLesley 218 

Bonie Jean.— " There was a lass, and she 

was fair" 219 

To Jeanie.— " Come, let me take thee to my 

breast * 221 

Dainty Davie 222 

Lovely Nancy.—" Thine am I, my faithful 

wife" 223 

Clouden Knowes 224* 

To Chloris * 226 

Chloris 227 

Lassie wi' the lint-white Locks ... 223 

This is no my ain Lassie 229 

Jessy.—" Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear" 2S() 

Tiie Birks of Aberfeldy 231 

The Rose-bud ... 232 

Peggy's Charms.—" When braving angry 

winter's storms " ?53 

The blissfui Day.— " The day returns my 

bosom burns" „, 2o4- 



CONTENTS 9 

PAGE* 

Constancy.— O were I on Parnassus hill" • • 235 
Lovely Jean. — u Of a* thu airts the wind can 

Maw" ... 236 

The blue-eyed Lassie ... 237 

Wilt thou be my Dearie? 237 

Lucy.—" O wat ye wha's in yon town" ... 233 
Blithe Phemie. — " Blithe, blithe and merry 

was she" 240 

Charming Nannie. — " Behind yon hills where 

Lugar flows" ... 241 

Green grow the Rashes 242 

The Highland Lassie 243 

Anna. — " Yestreen I had a pint o' wine" ... 245 

The Spinning Wheel 246 

The Country Lassie 247 

Tarn Glen .'. 249 

O for Ane-and-Twenty, Tam 250 

Somebody. — u My heart is sair, I dare na 

tell" 251 

O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad ... 252 

What can a young Lassie do wi' an auld Man ? 253 

My Tocher's the Jewel 253 

The Mercenary Lover — " Hey for a Lass wi* 

o tocher" .. /. ... /, 254 

Meg o' the Mill 255 

Auld Rob Morris 256 

To Tibbie. — " O Tibbie, I hae seen the day" 257 

Duncan Gray 258 

The braw Wooer 260 

Willie's Wife.—" Sic a wife as Willie had" .. 262 

Willie brew'd a Peck o' Maut 263 

Guidwife, count the Lawin ... 264 

Honest Poverty ... „ ... 265 



10 



CONTENTS. 



Contentment. — " Contented wi* little, 
cantie vri' mair" 

Caledonia, — " Their groves o' sweet 
let foreign lands reckon " 

Tlie Battle of Sheriff.Muir 

The Dumfries Volunteers . 

The Whistle 

John Barlevcora .,. ... *« •«* 



PAGE. 


?, and 







167 


myrtle 







2^3 


... ... 


269 





271 


... ... 


273 


t-.« t.t 


$73 



POEMS, 

CHIEFLY 

SCO T T I S H. 
BOOK IV. 

HUMOROUS, SATIRICAL, EPIGRAirlVA' 
TJCAL, AND MISCELLANEOUS. 



TAM O' SHANTER, 
A TALE 

Of Brownyis and of Bogilis full is this Buke. 

GAW1N DO'JUl&t. 

When chapman billies leave the street, 
And drouthy neebors, neebors meet, 
As market-days are wearing late, 
An' folk begin to tak the gate ; 
Wiiiie we sit bousing at the nappy, 
An' getting fou and unco happy, 
We think na on the lang Scots miles, 
The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles, 
That lie between us and our hame, 
Whare sits our sulky, sullen dame 



12 POEMS, 

Gath'ring her brows like gath'ring storm, 
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. 

This truth fan d honest Tarn o' Shard er ■ 
As he, frae Ayr, ae night did canter, 
(Auld Ayr wham ne'er a town surpasses, 
For honest men and bonie lasses.) 

O Tarn ! had'st thou b«t been see wise, 
; As taen thy ain wife Kate's advice ! 
She tauld thee wecl thou was a skellnm, 
A blethering, bin tering, drunken hi. Hum; 
That frae November till October, 
Ae market-day thou was na sober, 
That ilka raelder, wi' the miller, 
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller ; 
That ev'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on, 
The smith and thee gat rearing fou on, 
That at the L— d's house, ev'n on Sunday, 
Thou drank wi' Kirton Jean till Monday. 
•She prcphesy'd, that, late or soon, 
Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon j 
Or catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk, 
By Alloway's auid haunted kirk. 

Ah, gentle dames ! it gars me greet 
To think how monie counsels sweet, 
How monie lengthen'd sage advices, 
The husband fiae the wife despises ' 

But to our tale : Ae market night, 
Turn had got planted unco right ; 
Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, 
Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely ; 
And at his elbow, souter Johnny, 
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony, 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 13 

Tarn lo'ed him like a vera blither; 
They had been ton for weeks theiiither. 
The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter ; 
And ay the ale was growing better: 
The landlady and Tarn grew gracious ; 
Wi' favours, secret, sweet, and precious : 
The souter tauld his queerest stories ; 
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus . 
The storm without might rair and rustle, 
Tarn did na mind the storm a whistle. 

Care, mad to see a man sae happy, 
E'en drown'd himself amang the nappy ; 
As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, 
The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure 
Kings may be blest, but Tarn was glorious, 
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious. ■ 

But pleasures are like poppies spread, 
You seize the flow'r, its bloom fa shed; 
Or, like the snow-falls in the river, 
A moment white — then melts for ever ; 
Or, like the borealis race, 
That flit ere you can point their place ; 
Or, like the rainbow's lovely form 
Evanishing amid the storm. — 
Nae man can tether time or tide ; 
The hour approaches Tarn maun ride ; 
That hour, o' night's black arch the key stane, 
That dreary hour he mounts his beast in ; 
And sic a night he taks the road in, 
As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. 

The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last 
The rattling show'ra rose on the blast ; 



14 POEMS, 

The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd ; 
Loud, deep, and lansr, the thunder bellow'd : 
That night, a child might understand, 
The Deil had business on his hand. 
■ 

Weel mounted on his grey mare, Meg, 
A better never lifted leg, 
Tarn skelpit on thro' dub and mire, 
Despising wind, and rain, and fire ; 
Whyles holding fast his guid blue bonnet; 
Whyles crooning o'er some anid Scots sonnet; 
Whyles glow'ring rouLd wi' prudent cares, 
Lest bogles catch him unawares ; 
Kirk'Alloway was drawing nigh, 
v¥hare ghaists and houlets nightly cry.— 

By this time he was cross the ford, 
Whare in the snaw the chapman smoorM 
And past the birks and meikle stane, 
Whare drunken Charlie brak's neck bane* 
And thro' the whins, and by the cairn, 
Whare hunters fand the murder'd bairn, 
And near the thorn, aboon the well, 
Whare Mungo'g mither hang'd hersel. — 
Before him Doon pours all his floods ; 
The doubling storm roars thro* the woods ; 
The lightnings flash from pole to pole ; 
Near and more near the thunders roll ; 
When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees, 
Kirk'Alloway seem'd in a bleeze ; 
Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing ; 
And loud resounded mirth and dancing.— 

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn I 
What dangers thou canst make us scorn ! 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 15 

Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil ; 

Wi' usquabae, we'll face the Devil !■— 

The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle, 

Fair play, h'i car'd na Deils a boddle, 

But Maggie stood right sair astonished, 

Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd, 

She ventur'd forward on the light ; 

And, vow ! Tarn saw au unco sight! 

Warlocks and witches in a dance ; 

Nae cotillion brent new frae France, 

But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels, 

Put life and mettle in their heels. 

A winnock-bunker in the east, 

There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast ; 

A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large, 

To gie them music was his charge: 

He screw'd the pipes and gart them skirl, 

Till roof an' rafters a* did dirl. — 

Coffins stood round like open presses, 

That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses • 

And by some devilish cantrip slight, 

Each in its cauld hand held a light, — 

By which, heroic Tarn was able 

To note upon the haly table, 

A murderer's banes in gibbit aims ; 

Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd bairns j 

A thief, new cutted frae a rape, 

Wi* his last gasp his gab did gape ; 

Five tomahawks, wi' bluid red-ru*ted ; 

Five scymitars, wi' murder crusted ; 

A garter, which a babe had strangled ; 

A knife, a father's throat had mangled, 

Whom his ain son o' life bereft. 

The gray hairs yet stack to *he beft j 



16 POEMS, 

Three lawyers* tongues turn'd inside out, 

Wi' lies seam'd like a beggar's clout, 

And priests' hearts, rotten, black as muck, 

Lay, stinking, vile, in every neuk. 

Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu', 

Which ev'n to name wad be iinlawfu'. 

As Tammie glowiM,amaz'd, and curious, 
The mirth and fun grew fast and furious: 
The piper loud and louder blew ; 
The dancers quick and quicker flew ; 
They reel'd,they set, they cross'd, they cleekit 
Till ilka carlin swat and reekit, 
And coost her duddies to the w ark, 
And linket at it in her sark ! 

Now Tarn, O Turn ! had they been queans 
A* plump and strapping in their teens ; 
Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen. 
Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linen ' 
Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair^ 
That ance were plush, o' guid blue fca»»\ 
• I wad hae gi'en them aff my hurdies 
For ae blink o' the bonie burdies ! 

But wither' d beldams, auld and droll, 
Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal, 
Lowping an* flinging on a crummock, 
I wonder didna turn thy stomach. 

But Tarn kenn'd what was what fu' bra \t 'tie 
There was ae winsome. weneh and walie, 
That night inlisted in the core 
(Lang after kenn'd on C^-ick shora 1 






CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 17 

For monie a beast to dead she shot, 
And perish'd monie a bonie boat, 
And shook baith meikle corn and bear, 
And kept the country-side in fear), 
Her cutty-sark o' Paisley ham, 
That while a lassie she had worn, 
In longitnde tho' sorely scanty, 
It was her best, and she was vauntie.*- 
Ah ! little kenn'd thy reverend grannie, 
That sark she coft for her wee Nannie, 
Wf twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches), 
Wad ever grac'd a dance o' witches ! 

But here my Muse her wing maun cow'r ; 
Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r ; 
To sing how Nannie lap and flang, 
(A souple jad she was and Strang) 
And how Tarn stood, like ane bewitch'd, 
And thought his very een enrich'd ; 
Even Satan glowr'd, and fidg'd fir' fain, 
And hotch'd and blew wl* might and main : 
Till first ae caper, syne anither, 
Tarn tint his reason a' thegither, 
And roars out, u Weel done, Cutty-sark ! M 
And in an instant a' was dark : 
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, 
When out the hellish legion sallied. 

As bees bizz out wr* angry fyke, 
When plundering herds assail their byke ; 
As open pussie's mortal foes, 
When, pop ! she starts before their nose ; 
As eager runs the market-crowd, 
When, " Catch the thief!" resounds aloud; 
Vol. ii. B 



18 POKMS, 

So Maggie runs, the witches follow, 

Wi' monie an eldritch skreech and follow. 

Ah, Tam / ah, Tam ! thor.'Il get thy fairin 
In hell they'll roast thee like a hen in ! 
In vain thy Kate awaits thy ec-min ! 
Kate soon will he a woefu' woman ! 
Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg> 
And win the key-stane* of the brig ; 
There at them thou thy tail may toss, 
A running stream they dare na cross. 
But ere the key-stane she could maKe, 
The fient a tail she had to shake f 
For Nannie, far before the rest, 
Hard upon noble Maggie prest, 
And flew at Tam wi* fuiious ettle ; 
But little wist she Maggie's mettle— 
Ae spring brought aff her master hale, 
But left behind her ain grey tail : 
The carlin claughther by the rump, 
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. 

Now, wha this tale o* truth shall read, 
Ilk man and mother's son, take heed : 
Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd, 
Or cutty sarks run in your mind, 
Think, ye may buy the joys o'er dear, 
Remember Tam o' Slumter's mare. 



• It i» » well-known fact, that witchcj, or any evil spirit?, hareno 
power to follow a poor wight ar,y farther than the middle of the next 
running stream. — It maybe proper likewiieto mention to the benighted 
tiaveller, that when he falls in with bigUs, whatever danger may be ia 
hi* going forward, there U much more hazard ia turning back. 



CHIKFLY SCOTTISH. 19 



[The following Poem will, by many readers, be 
well enough understood ; but for the sake of 
those who are unacquainted with the manners 
and traditions of the country where the scene 
is cast, Notes are added, to give some account 
of the principal charms and spells of that night, 
so big with prophecy to the peasantry in the 
west of Scotland. The passion of prying into 
futurity makes a striking part of the history of 
human nature in its rude state, in all ages and 
nations ; and it may be some entertainment to a 
philosophic mind, if any such should honour the 
Author with a perusal, to see the remains of it 
among the more unenlightened in our own.] 



B! 



20 POEMS, 



HALLOWEEN*. 



Vssi let the rich deride, the proud dlsdaU, 
The simple pleasures of the lowly tra!n } 
To be more dear, congenial to my heart, 
One native charm, than all the gloss of art. 

GOLDSMITH. 



Upon that night, when fairies light, 
On Cassilis Downansj- dance, 

Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze, 
On sprightly coursers prance ; 

Or for Colean the route is taen, 
Beneath the moon's pale beams ; 






• Is thought to be a night when witches, devils, and other miscoief- 
making beings, are all abroad on their baneful, midnight enands; ?ir» 
cularly those aerial people, the fairie*, are saiaoa that right to hold a 
grand anniversary. 



f Certain littie romantic, rocky green hills, in the neighbourhood 
tf the 3ncient seat of the earls of Cassilis* 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 21 

There up the Cove*, to stray an* rove 
Amang the rocks an' streams 

To sport that night. 

Amang the bonie winding banks, 

Where Doon rins, wimplin, clear, 
Where Brucef ance rul'd the martial rank*, 

-And shock the Carrick spear, 
Some merry, friendly, couutia folks, 

Together did convene, 
To burn their nits, an' pou their stocks. 

An* hand their Halloween 

Fu' blythe that night 

The lasses feat, and cleanly neat, 

Mair braw than when they're fine ; 
Their faces blythe, fu' sweetly kythe, 

Hearts leal, an' warm, an' kin' : 
The lads sae trig, wi' wooer-babs, 

Weel knotted on their garten, 
Some unco blate, and some wi' gabs, '* 

Gar lasses' hearts gang startin 

Whyles fast that night. 

Then first and foremost thro* the kail, 
Their stocks^, maun a' be sought ance ; 



* A noted cavern near Colean-house, called the Core of Coleaa, 
which, as well as Cassilis Downans, is famed in country story for being 
• favourite haunt of fairies, 

* The famous family of that name, the ancestors of Robert, the great 
deliverer of his country, were earl* of Carrick, 

4 The first ceremony of Halloween is, pulling each a stock, or plant 
of k ail. They must go out, hand in hand, with eyes shut, and pull 



22 POEMS, 

They steek their een, an* graip an' wal« t 
For muckle anes an' straught anes. 

Poor hav'rel Will fell affthe drift. 
An* wander'd thro' the bow-kail, 

An' pow't, for want o* better shift, 
A runt was like a sow tail, 

Sae bow't that .night. 

Then, straught or crooked, yird or nane, 

They roar an' cry a' throu'ther ; 
The vera wee things, todlin, rin 

Wi' stocks out-owre their shouther ; 
An' gif the cuslock's sweet or sour, 

Wi* joctelegs they taste them ; 
Syne coziely, aboon the door, 

Wi* cannie care, they've plac'd them 
To lie that night. 

The lasses staw frae 'mang them a* 

To pou their stalks o' corn* ; 



the first they meet with. Its being big or little, straight or crooked, It 

prophetic of the size and shape of the grand object of all their spells— 
the husband or wife. If any yird, or earth, stick to the root, that Is 
tocher, or fortune; and the taste of the custock, that is, the heart 
of the stem, 13 indicative of the natural temper and disposition. 
Lastly, the stems, or, to give them their ordinary appellation, the runti, 
are placed somewhere above the head of the door : and the Christian 
names of the people whom chance brings into the house, are, according 
to the priority of plaring the runts, the names in question. 

* They go to the barn-yard and pull each, at three several times, a 
•talk of oats, if thetnird stalk wants the top-pickle, that is, the grain 
at the top of the stalk, the party in question will come to the marriage 
feed any thing but iiia^* 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 23 

But Rab slips out, an' jinks about, 

Behint the muckle thorn : 
He grippet Nelly hard an* fast ; 

Loud skirl'd a' the lasses ; 
But her tap pickle maist was lost, 

When kiutlin in the fause-house* 

Wi* him that night. 

The auld guidwife's weel hoordet nitsf 

Are round au* round divided, 
An'monie lads an' lasses' fates, 

Are there that night decided . 
Some kindle, coutliie, side by side, 

An' burn thcgither trimly ; 
Some start awa wi' saucy pride, 

And jump out-owre the chimlie 

Fu' high that night. 

Jea>i slips in twa wi* tentie e'e ; 

Wha 'twas, she wadna tell ; 
But this is Jock, and this is me, 

She says in to hersel : 
He bleez'd owre her, an she owre hira, 

As they wad never mair part ! 
Till fuff! he started up the lum, 

An* Jean had e'en a sair heart 

To see't that night. 



•When the corn it in a doubtful state, by being too green, or wet, tho 
ttack-luilder, bymeansof old timber, &c. makes a large apartment in 
hissiack, with an opening in the side which is rairest exposed to th« 
wind ; this he calls zfause-boute. 

t Burning the nuts is a famous charm. They name the lad and law 
to each particular nut, as they lay them in the fire, and accordingly *s 
they burn quietly together, or start from beside one another, the tours* 
£»d issue of the courtship will Us. 



24 POEMS, 

Poor Willie, xvi' his bow-kail-runt, 
Was brunt wi* primsie Maillie ; 
An* Malile, nae doubt, took the drunt. 

To be compar'd to Willie : 
Mall's nit lap out wi' pridefu' fling, 

An' her ain fit it brunt it; 
While Willie lap, and swoor by jing, 
'Twas just the way he wanted 

To be that night. 

Nell had the fause-house in her min\ 

She pits hersel an' Rob in ; 
In loving bleeze they sweetly join, 

Till white in ase they're sobbin ;^ 
Nell's heart was dancin at the view, 

She whisper'd Rob to leuk for't: 
Rob, stowlins, prie'd her bonie mou, 

PV cozie in the neuk for't, 

Unseen that night. 

But Merran sat behint their backs, 

Her thoughts on Andrew Bell ; 
She lea'es them gashin at their cracks, 

And slips out by hersel : 
She thro' fhe yard the nearest taks, 

And to the kiln she goes then, 
An' darklins grapit for the bauks, 

And in the blue-clue* throws then, 

Right fear't that night. 



•CTTC 



Whoever would, with success, try this spell, must strictly a*. 
~rre these directions : Steal out, all alone, to the JWn,at»d, darkling, 
throw into the pot a clue of blue yarn ; wind it in a new clue off the 
old one ; and, towards the latter end, something will hold the thread ; 
demand, Wba bauds ? i. e. Who holds \ An answer will be returned 
from the kiln-pot, by naming the christian and surname of your futux« 
inouM. 



tpou**. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 

An' ay she win't, and ay she swat. 

I wat she made nae jaukin , 
Till something held within the pat, 

GuidL — d\ but she was quakin* 
But whether 'twas the Deil himsei, 

Or whether 'twas a bauk-en', 
Or whether it was Andrew Bell, 
She did not wait on lalkiu 

To spier that night. 

Wee Jenny to her graunie says, 

c< Will ye go wi* me grannie ? 
Ill eat the apple* at the glass, 

I gat frae uncle Johnie : M 
She fufFt her pipe wi' sic a hint, 

In wrath she was sae vap'rin, 
She notic't na, an aizle brunt 

Her braw new worset apron 

Out thro' that night. 

w Ye little skelpie limmer's face ! 

How daur you try sic sportin, 
As seek the foul Thief onie place, 

For him to spae your fortune ? 
Nae doubt but ye may get a sight ! 

Great cause ye hae to fear it ; 
For monie a ane has gotten a fright, 

An* liv'd an' died deleeret 

On sic a night » 



25 



•Tate a candle, and go alone to a loofclng.gtass; eat an apple before 
It* «nd some traditions »ay, you should c;>mb your hair all the time • 
tlie face of your cojijugil companion tt> ke t will be scfcn in tbc glaw, as if 
•ecpingover your thouUiex. 



26 ' POEMS, 

4< Ae hairs t afore the Sherra-moor, 

I mind't as weel's yestreen, 
I was a gilpey then, I'm sure 

I was na past fyfteen ; 
The simmer had been cauld an 9 wit, 

An' stuff was unco green ; 
An' ay a rantin kirn we gat, 

An' just on Halloween 

It fell that night. 

u Our stibble-rig was Rab M'GraeD, 

A clever, sturdy fallow ; 
He's sin' gat Eppie Sim wi' wean, 

That liv'd in Achmacalla : 
He gat hemp-seedy* I mind it weel, 

An' he made unco light o't ; 
But monie a day was by himsel, 

He was sae sairly frightet 

That vera night.*' 

Then up gat fechtin Jamie Fleck, 
An' he swoor by his conscience. 

That he could kgw hemp-seed a peck ; 
For it was a' but nonsense : 



* Steal oat, unperceired, and sow a handful of hemp-teed ; harrow- 
ing it with any thing you can conveniently draw afteryou. Repeat now 
»*<jthcn, "Hemp-seed I taw thee, hemp-seed 1 saw thee \ ar.d hint 
(or her) that ii to be my true-love, come after me and pou thee. 1 * 
Look over your left shoulder, and you will see the appearance of the 
person invoked, In the attitude of pulling hemp. Some traditions say, 
** Come after me, and «haw thee ;'' that is, show thyself } in which 
CMC, It simply appeais. Others omit the harrowing* and say, " Coat 
after me, aad haxrow thee." 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH, 27 

The anlci guidman raught down the pock. 

An* out a handfu' gied him ; 
Syne bad him slip frae 'mang the folk, 

Some time when uae ane see'd him, 
An' try't that night. 

He marches thro* amang the stacks, 

Tho' he was something sturtin j 
The graip he for a harrow taks, 

An* haurls at his curpin : 
An' ev'ry now an' then, he says, 

u Hemp-seed I saw thee, 
An' her that is to be my lass, 

Come after me, and draw thee 

As fast this night." 

He whistl'd up Lord Lennox' march, 

To keep his courage cheery ; 
Altho' his hair began to arch, 

He was sae fley'd an' eerie : 
Till presently he hears a squeak, ' 

An' then a grane an' gruntle ; 
He by his shouther gae a keek, 

An' tumbl'd wi' a wintle 

Outowre that night. 

He roared a horrid murder -shout, 

In dreadfu' desperation ! 
An' young an' auld cam rinnin out, 

Au' hear the sad narration : 
He swoor 'twas hilchiu Jean M'Craw, 

Or crouchie Meiran Humphie, 
Till stop ! she trotted thro' them a' ; 

An' wha was it but gi umyhie 

Asteer that night ! 



28 POEMS, 

Meg fain wad to the barn hae gaen 

To winn three wechts o y naething* : 
But for to meet the Deil her lane* 

She pat but little faith in : 
She gies the herd a pickle nits, 

An' twa red cheekit apples, h 
To watch, while for the barn she sets, 

In hopes to see Tarn Kipples 

That vera night.] 

She turns the key wi' cannie thraw, 

And owre the threshold ventures j 
But first on Sawnie gies a ca' 

Syne bauldly in she enters ; 
A ration rattl'd up the wa', 

An' she cry'd L — d preserve her ! 
An* ran thro' midden-hole an* a* 

An' pray'd wi' zeal an' fervour, 

Fir* fast that night. 

They hoy't out Will, wi' sair advice : 
They hecht him some fine braw ane ; 

It chanc'd the stack hefaddom'd thrice)* 
Was timmer-propt for thrawin : 



• ThU charm must likewise be performed unperctired and alon*. 
Too go to the tarn, and open both doors, taking them off the hinges, 
If possible ; for there is a danger that the being, about to appear, may 
•hot the doors, and do you some m'uehief. Then take that instrument 
wscd in winnowing the corn, which, in our country dialect, we call a 
vecbt ; and go through all the attitudes of letting down corn against 
the wind. Repeat it three times ; and the third time an apparition 
"ill pttss through the b*rn, in at the windy door, and out at the othei, 
having b'rth the figure in question, and the appearance or retinue, mark- 
lag the employment or station in life. 

t Take an opportunity ef going, unnoticed, to a bcar-itaci, and 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 29 

He taks a swirlie, auld moss oak, 
For some black, grousome carlin ; 

An' loot a winze, an* drew a stroke, 
Till skin in blypes came haurlin 

Aff's nieves that night. 

A wanton widow Leezie was, 

As canty as a kittlen ; 
But, och 1 that night, amarg the shaws, 

She got a fearfu' settlin ! 
She thro' the whins, an' by the cairn, 

An' owre the hill gaed scrievin, 
Whare three lairds' lands met at a bum 9 . 

To dip her left sark-sleeve in, 

Was bent that night. 

Whyles owre a li»n the burnie plays, 

As thro' the glen it wimpl't ; 
Whyles round a rocky scar it strays ; 

Whyles in a wiel it dimpl't ; 
Whyles glitter'd to the nightly rays, 

Wi' bickering, dancing dazzle; 
Whyles cookit underneath the braes, 

Below the spreading hazel, 

Unseen that night. 



fathom It three times round. The last fathom of the last time, yon 
will caUh lii your arms the appearance of your future conjugal yoke- 
fellow. 

• Tou go out, one or more, for this is a social spell, to a south- 
running spring or rivulet, where " three lairds' lands meet," and dip 
your left shirt sleeve. Go to bed insight of a fire, and hang your wet- 
sleeve before it to dry. Lie awake ; and some time near midnight, «r> 
apparition, having the exact figure of the grand object in question, will 
ecmc and turn the sleeve, as if to dry the other tide of it* 



30 POEMS, 

Amang the brachens, on the brae 

Between her an* the moon, 
The Deil, or else an outler quey,- 

Gat up an* gae a croon : 
Poor Leezie's heart maist lap the hool ; 

Near lav'rockheight she jurapit, t 
But mist a fit, an' in the pool 

Gut-owre the lugs she plumpit, ** 

Wi* a plunge that night* 
In order, on the clean hearth-stane, 

The luggies three* are ranged, 
And ev'ry time great care is taen, 

To see them duly changed : 
Auld uncle John, wha wedlock's joys 

Sin Mar's-year did desire, 
Because he gat the toom dish thrice, 

He heav'd them on the fire 

Jn wrath that night. 
Wi' merry gangs, an* friendly cracks, 

I wat they did na weary \ 
An* unco tales, an* funnie jokes, 

Their sports were cheap an' cheery. 
Till butter*d so'onst, wi' fragrant lunt, 

Set a' their gabs a-steerin ; 
Syne, wi' a social glass o' strunt, 

They parted aff careerin 

Fu' blythe that night. 

* Take three dishes: put clean water In one, fool water in another! 
eare the third empty : blimlfold a person, and lead him to the hearth 

where the dishes are ranged; he (or she) dips the left hand: if by 
chance in the clean water, the future huibind or wife will come to the 
o%r of matrimony a maid : if in the foul, a widow : if in the empty 
4J>h, it foretelsjwith equal certainty, nomarriage at all. It la repeated 
three times; and fYery time thearrancement of the dishes U altered. 

* lowens, with butter instead of milk 10 them, is arrays she Hit 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 31 



THE JOLLY BEGGARS, 
A CANTATA. 

KECITATIVO. 

When lyart leaves bestrow the yird. 
Or wavering like the Bauckie-bird% 

Bedim cauld Boreas' blast ; 
When hailstanes drive wi' bitter ikyte, 
And infant frosts begin to bite, 

In hoary cranreuch drest ; 
Ae night at e'en a merry core 

O* randie, gangrel bodies, 
In Poosie-Nancie's held the splore, ' 
To drink their orra duddies: 
Wi' quaffing and laughing, 

They ranted and they sang ; ■' 
Wi' jumping and thumping, 
The vera girdle rang. 

First, neist the fire, in anld red rags, 
Ane sat, weel brae'd wi' mealy bags, 

And knapsack a* in order ; 
His doxy lay within his arm, 
Wi' nsquebae an* blankets warm- 
She blinket on her sodger : 

* Tbe old Sotch name for the fi«t. 



32 POEMS, 

An* ay he gies t^e tozie drab 

The titlier skel[«*i kiss, 
While she held up her greedy gab 
Just like an aumos dish. 
Ilk smack still did crack still, 

Just like a cadgers whip, 
Then staggering and swaggering 
He roar'd this ditty up — 

AIR, 

Tune— " Soldier's Joy." 

I am a son of Mars who have been in many wars, 
And show my cuts and scars wherever I come : 
This here was for a wench, and that otherin a trench 
When welcoming the French at the sound of the 
drum. 

Lai de daudle, &c. 

My prenticeship I past where my leader breath'd 

his last, 
When the bloody die was cast on the heights of 

Abram ; 
I served out my trade when the gallant game was 

play'd. 
And the Moro low was laid at the sound of the 

drum. 

Lai de daudle, &c. 

I lastly was with Curtis, among the floating batte- 
ries, 
And there I left for witness an arm and a limb ; 
Yet let my country need me, with Elliot to head me, 
I'd clatter on my stumps at the sound of a drum. 
Lai de daudle, &c. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 33 

And now tho' I must beg with a wooden arm and 

leg, 
And many a tatter'd rag hanging over my bnm, 
I'm as happy with my wallet, my bottle and my 

callet, 
As when lus d in scarlet to follow a drum* 
Lai de daudle, &c. 

What tho* with hoary locks, I must stand the win- 
ter shocks, 

Beneath the woods and rocks often times for a home 

When the tother bag I sell, and the tother bottle 
tell, 

J could meet a troop of hell, at the sound of the 
drum. 

Lai de dandle, &c, 

RECITATIVO. 

He ended ; and the kebars sheuk, 

Aboon the chorus roar ; 
While frighted rattons backward leuk, 

And seek the benmost bore ; 
A fairy fiddler frae the neuk, 

He skuTd out encore ! 
But up arose the martial chuck, 

And laid the loud uproar. 



AIR. 
Tune—" Soldier Laddie." 

I once was a maid, tho* I cannot tell when, 
And still my delight is in proper youns; men; 
Vol. 11. " C 



34 POEMS, 

Some one of a troop of dragoons was my daddie, - 
No winder I'm fond of a sodger laddie.^ 
Sing, Lal de lal, &c.g, 

The first of my loves was a swaggering blade, 
To rattle the thundering drum was his trade; 
His leg was so tight, and his cheek was so ruddy* 
Transported I was with my sodger laddie* 
Sing, Lai de lal, &c. 

But the godly old chaplain left him in the lurch, 
The sword I forsook for the sake of the church; 
"He ventur'd the soul and I risked the body, 
;T was then I prov'd false to my sodger laddie? 
Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 

FaU soon I grew sick of my sanctified sot 
The regiment at large for a husband I got f > 
From the gilded spontoon to the fife I was ready 
I asked no more but a sodger laddie. 
Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 

But the peace it redue'd me to beg in desparr,' 
Till I met my old boy at Cunningham fair ; 
His rags regimental they flutter'd so gaudy, 
My heart it rejoie/d at my sodger laddie* 
Sing, Lal de lal, <&c. 

■*m 

And now I have lived — I know not how lon$ 

But still I can join in a cup or a song ; 

And whilst with both hands I can hold the gla^ 

steady, 
Here's to thee, my hero, my sodger laddie* 
Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 35 



RECITATIVO. 

Then neist ontspak a raucle carlin, 
Wha kent fu' weel to cleek the sterling, 
For monie a pnrsie she had hooked, 
And had in monie a well-been ducked. 
Her dove had been a Highland laddie, 
But weary fa' the waefV woody I 
Wi* sighs and sobs she thus began 
To wail her braw John Highlandmao. 

AIR. 

Tune — "O an ye were dead, Gudeman.' 

A Highland lad my love was born, 
The Lalland laws he held in scorn ; 
But he still was faithtn' to his clan, 
My gallant braw John Highlandman, 



Sing, hey my braw John Highlandman ! 
Stug, hn my braw John Highlandman! 
There's not a lad in a 9 the Ian* 
Was match for my John Highlandman, 

With his philibeg an' tartan plaid, 
An' gude claymore down by Iiis side, 
Tue ladies' hearts he did trepan, 
My gallant braw John Highlandman. 

Sing, hey, &e. 

C2 



36 POEMS, 

We ranged a from Tweed to Spey, 
An' liv'd like lords and ladies gay ; 
For a Lalland face he feared none, 
My gallant braw John Highlandman. 
Sing, hey, &c. 

They banish'd him beyond the sea, 
Bnt ere the bud was on the tree, 
Adown my cheeks the pearls ran, 
Embracing my John Highlandmaa. 
Sing, hey,&C. 

But, oh! they catchM him at the last, 
And bound him in a dungeon fast ; 
My curse upon them every one, 
They've hangM my braw John Highlandmaib 
Sing, hey, &c. 

And now a widow, I must mourn 
The pleasures that will ne'er return ; 
No comfort but a hearty can, 
When I think on John Highlandman. 
Sing, hey, &c. 



RECITATIVO. 

A pigmy scraper, wi' his fiddle, 

Wha us'd to trysts and fairs to driddle, 

Her strappau limb and gaucy middle, 

He reach'd nae higher, 
Bad hol'd his heartie like a riddle, 

An' blawn't on fire* 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 37 

Wi' hand on haunch, an' upward e'e, 
He croon'd his gamut, one, two, three, 
Then in an Arioso key, 

The wee Apollo 
Set off wi' Allegretto glee 

His giga solo. 



AIR. 

Tune—" Whistle o'er the lave oV 

Let me pyke up to dight that tear, 
An' go wi' me to be my dear, 
An' then your ev'ry care and fear 
May whistle o'er the lave o't. 

CHORUS. 

/ am a fiddler to my trade, 
And a' the tunes that e'er I play'd. 
The sweetest still to wife or maid, 
Was whistle o'er the lave oV. 

At kirns and weddings we'se be therefc 
And O ! sae nicely's we will fare ; 
We'll bouse about till daridie Care 
Sing whistle o'er the lave o't. 
I am, &c. 

Sae merrily the banes we'll pyke, 
An' sun oursel* about the dyke, 
An' at our leisure, when we like, 
We'll whistle o'er the lave o't. 
I am, &c« 



38 POEMS, 

But bless me wP your heav*n o* charma, 
And while I kittle hair on thairms t 
Hunger, cauld, an* a' sic harms, 
May whistle o'er the lave o't. 
I am, &c* 



RECITATIVO. 

Her chann8 had struck a sturdy Caird, 

As weel as poor Gut-scraper ; 
He taks the 6ddier by the beard, 

And draws a rusty rapier. — 
He swore by a' was swearing worth, 

To speet him like a pliver, 
Unless he would, from that time forth, 

Relinquish her for ever. 

Wi* ghastly e'e, poor tweedle-dee 

Upon his hunkers bended, 
And pray'd for grace, wi' ruefu' face, 

And so the quarrel ended. 
But though his little heart did grieve, 

When round the tinker press'd her, 
He feign'd to snirtle in his sleeve, 

When thus the Caird address'd her. 



AIR. 
Tcne— " Clout the Caudron." 

Mf bonie lass I work in brass, 

A tinker is my station : 
I've travell'd round all Christian ground 

In this my occupation. 



^CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 39 

I've taen the gold, I've been enroird 

In many a noble squadron ; 
But vain they search'd, when aff I march'd 

To go and clout the candron. 

I've taen the gold, &c. 

Despise that shrimp, that wither'd imp, 

Wi' a* his noise an' eap'nn, 
And tak a share wi tliose that bear , 

The budget and the apron. 
And by that stovvp ! my faith and houp, 

And by that dear KiK>ai<;ie*, 
If 'e'er ye want or meet wi' scant, 

May I ne' er weet my craigie. 

And by that stowp, &e» 



RECITATIVO. 



The Caird prevail'd— th' unblushing fair , 

In his embraces sunk, 
Partly wi' love o'ercome sae sair f 

An' partly she was drunk. 

Sir Violino, wi' an air 

That show'd a man of spunk, 
Wlsh*d unison between the pair, 

An made the bottle clunk 

To their health that night 



* A peurfUr sort of whiskey »o called, » srejt farotirUs vitti P&kIo* 



40 POEMS, 

But hurcliin cupid shot a shaft 

That play'd a dame a shavie, 
The fiddler rak'd her fore and aft 

Behint the chicken cavie. 
Her lord, a wight o' Homer's* craft, 

Tho' limpin wi' the spavie, 
He hirpl'd up, and lap like daft, 

And shor'd them dainty Davie. 

O' boot that night. 

He was a care-defying blade 

As ever Bacchus listed ; 
Tho' Fortune sair upon him laid, 

His heart she ever miss'd it. 
He had nae wish, but — to be glad, 

Nor want, but — when he thirsted ! 
He hated naught but — to be sad, 

And thus the Muse suggested 

His sang that night* 



AIR. 

Tune— « For a' that, and a' that* 

I am a bard of no regard 
Wi" gentlefolks, an' a' that ; 

But Homer-like, the glowran byke, 
Frae town to town I draw that. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH, -4l 



For a 9 that, and a' that, 
And twice as mvckles a' that ; 

We lost but ane, I've twa behin, 
I've wife eneugh for a' that. 

I never drank the Muses' stank, 

Castalia's burn, and a' that; 
But there it streams, and richly reams* 

My Helicon I ca' that. 

For a' that, &c. 

Great love I bear to a' the fair, 
Their humble slave, and a' that; 

But lordly will, I hold it still 

A mortal sin to thraw that. 

For a* that, &c. 

In raptures sweet, this hour we meet, 
Wt" mutual love and a' that ; 

But for how lang thejja may stang, 
Let inclination law that. 

For a' that, &c. 

Their tricks and craft have put me daft, 
They've taen me in, and a' that ; 

But clear your decks, and here's the serf 
I like the jads for a' that. 

For a' that, and a 1 that, 

And twice a* mucklt's a 9 that ; 
My dearest blnid, to do them guid, 

They're welcome till' t fur a' that, 



42 POEMS, 



RECITATIVE 

So simg the bard— and Nansie's wVa ] 
Shook wi* a thunder of applause,^ 

Reecho'd from each mouth . 
They toom'd their pocks, an' pawn'd their duos, 
They scarcely left to co'er their fuds. 

To quench their lovvan drouth. 
Then owre again, the jovial thrang 

Tlie poet did request, 
To lawsehis pack, an' wale a sang, • 
A ballad o' the best : 
He, rising, rejoicing 

Between his twa Deborahs, 
Looks round him, an' found th«m 
Impatient for the chorus. 



AIR. 

Tune—" Jolly mortals fill your g!as sea. ' 

See the smoking bowl before us ! 

Mark our jovial ragged ring 1 
Round and round take up the chorus, 

And in raptures let us sing, 

CHORUS. 

A Jifc frr those by law protected / 

Liberty's a glorious feast I 
Courtt/or cowards were erected. 

Churches built to please the priest, * 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH, 

What is title? what is treasure? 

What is reputation's care ? 
If we lead a life of pleasure, 

Tis oo matter how or where* 
A %, &c« 

With the ready trick ana tabic, 
Round we wander all the day $ 

And at night, in barn or stable, 
Hug our doxies on the hay. 
A fig, &c~ 

Does the train-attended carriage 
Thro' the country lighter rove ? \ 

Does the sober bed of marriage 
Witness brighter scenes of love? 
A fig, &c. 

Life 19 all a variorum, 

We regard not how it goes ; 
Let them cant about decorum, 

Who have characters to lose. 
A fig, &C, 

Here's to budgets, bass, and wallets] 
Here's to all the wand'ring train , 

Here's onr ragged brats and cutlets I 
One and all cry out, Amen I 
A fig, &c. 

A fig for those by law protected I 
Liberty's a glorious feast J 

Courts for cowards were erected , 
Churches built to please the priesi* 



44 PGEMS, 

DEATH AND DR. HORNBOOK, 
A TRUE STORY. 

Some books are lies frae end to end, 
And some great lies were never penn'd . 
Ev'n Ministers, they hae been kenn'd, 

In holy rapture, 
A rousing whid, at times, to vend, 

And nail't wi' Scripture. 

But this that I am grann to tell, 
Which lately on a night befel, 
Is just as true's the DeiTs in h-11 

Or Dublin city :" 
That e'er he nearer comes oursel 

's a muckle pity. 

The Clachan yill had made me canty, 
I was na fou, but just had plenty ; 
I stacher'd whyles, but yet took tent ay 

To free the ditches ; 
An* hillocks, stanes, an* bushes, kenn'd ay 
Frae ghaist: an* witches. 

The rising Moon began to glowV 
The distant Cxtninock bills out-owre : 
To count her horns, wi' a' my pow'r, 

I set mysel ; 
But whether she had three or four, 

I cou'd ua tell. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 45 

I was come round about the hill, 
And todlin down on Willie's mill, 
Setting my staff wi' a' my skill, 

■ To keep me sicker ; 
Tho' leeward whyles, against my will, 
I took a bicker. 

I there wi' Something did forgather, 
That put me in an eerie swither ; 
An awfu* scythe, out-owre ae shouther, 

Clear, dangling hang 5 
A three*tac'd leister on the ither 

Lay, large an' lang. 

Its stature seem'd lang Scotch ells twa, 
The queerest shape that e'er I saw, 
For fient a wane it had awa ! 

And then, its shanks. 
They were as thin, as sharp, an' sma' 
As cheeks o' branks ! 

f< Guid-e'en," quo' I ; u Friend ! hae ye been ma win 
When ither folk are busy sawin* i" 1 

It seem'd to mak a kind o* stan', 

But naethingspak; 
At length, says I, " Friend, whare ve garni, 

Will ye go back f» 

It spak right howe— " My name is Death, 
But be na fley'd."— Quoth I, " Guid faith ! 
Ye're maybe come to stap my breath ; 

But tent me, billie ; 
I red ye weel, tak care o' skaith, 

See, there's a gully !" 

* This rencounter happened In seed-time, 1 78 5. 



46 , POEMS,, 

* Gudeman,"quo* he, " put up your whittle, 
I'm no design'd to try its mettle ; 
But if I did, I wad be kittle 

To be mislear'd, 
I wad Da mind it, no that spittle 

Out-owre my beard.'* 

u Weel, weel !" says I, u a bargain be*t ; 
Come, gie's your hand, an' sae we're gree't } 
We'll ease our shanks an' tak a seat, 

Come, gie's your news ; 
This while* ye hae been monie a sate, 

At monie a house." 

u Ay, ay !" quo' he, an' shook his head, 
•^It's e'en alang, lang time indeed 
Sin' I began to nick the thread, 

An' choke the breath ; f 
Folk maun do something for their bread, 

An' sae maun Death. 



" Sax thousand years are near hand fled 
Sin' I was to the butchering bred. 
An' monie a scheme in vain's been laid, 

To stap or scar me ; 
Till ane Hornbook's^ taen up the trade, 
An* faith, he'll waur roe 






• An epidemical f ercr was then raging in that coaairy 

ii» gentleman. Dr. Hornbotk, is, pr< 

- gn Order of the Ferula; but, by inti 

Hfca .poOccary , surgeon, and physician. 



t Tula gentleman. Dr. Hombnk, is, professionally, % broker of rfc* 
sovereign Order of the Ferula; but, by intuition and inspiration, it a* 
ic e an .poOccarr, surgeon, and nhTtitian. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH* A^ 

" Ye ken Jock Hornbrook i' the dachao^ 
Deil mak bis king's-hood in a spleuchan ! 
He's grown sae wee! acquaint wi' Buchan* 

Au' ither chaps, 
The weans baud out their fingers laughin, 

An' pouk my hips. 

" See, here's a scythe, and there's a dart, 
They hae piere'd monie a gallant heart; 
But Doctor Hurnbrooky wi' his art 

And cursed skill. 
Has made them baith no worth a f— t, 

D-mn'd haet they'll kill : 

• u 'Twas but yestreen, nae farther gaen,' 

I threw a noble throw at ane ; 

\Vi* less, I'm sure, I've hundreds slain , 

But deil-ma-care, 
It just playMdirl on the bane, 

But did nae mair. 

" Hornbook was by, wi' ready art, 
And had sae fortify'd the part, 
That when I looked to my dart 

It was sae blunt, 
Fient haet o't wad hae piere'd the heart 
Of a kail-runt. 

" I drew my scythe in sic a fury, 
I near hand cowpit wi 1 my hurry, 
But yet the bauld Apothecary 

Withstood the shock ; 
I might as weel hae try'd a quarry 

O* hard whin rock. 

* Ikiclua*t Domestic Mc4iiat» 



48 POEMS, 

u Ev'n them he canna get attended, 
Altho* their face he ne'er hadkenn'd it, 
Just in a kail-blade, and send it, 

As soon's he smells't, , 
Baith their disease, and what will mend it, 

At once he tells' t. 

** And then a' doctor's saws and whittle!; 
Of a' dimensions, shapes, an' mettles, 
A' kind o' boxes, mugs, an' bottles, 

He's sure to hae; 
Their Latin names as fast he rattles 

As A B C. 

" Calces o' fossils, earth, and trees ; 
True sal-marinura o* the seas ; 
The farina of beans and pease, 

He has*t in plenty ; 
Aqua-fontis, what you please, 

He can content ye, 

w Forbye some new, uncommon weapon*, 
Urinus spiritus of capons ; 
Or mite-horn shavings, filings, scrapings, 

Distill'd per set 
Sal-alkali o' midge-tail-clippings, 

And monie mae." 

M Waes me for Johnny Ged's Hole* now,* 
Quo' I, " if that the news be true ! 
His braw calf-ward whare gowans grew, 

Sae white and bonie, 
Nae doubt they'll rive it wi' the pleugh ; 

They'll ruin Johnny T 

• The sravo-digger. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 49 

The creature grain'd an eldrich laugh, 
And says, " Ye need na yoke the plough, 
Kirkyards will soon be tiil'd eneugh, 
Tak ye nae fear : 
They'll a' be trench'd wi* monie a sheugh 
In twa- three year. 

" Whare I kiird ane a fair strae death, 
By loss o* blood or want o' breath, 
This night I'm free to tak ray aith, 

That Hornbook's skill 
Has clad a score i' their last claith, 

By drap an' pill. 

"An honest Wabster to his trade, 
Whase wife's twa nieves were scarce weel bred 
Gat tippence-worth to mend her head, 

When it was sair ; 
The wife slade cannie to her bed, 

But ne'er spak mair. 

" A countra Laird had taen the batts, 
Or some curmurring in his guts, 
His only son for Hornbook sets, 

An' pays him well, 
The lad, for twa guid gimmer pets, 

Was Laird himsel. 

" A bonnie lass, ye kenn'd her name, 
Some ill-brewn drink had hov'dhtr warac; 
She trusts hersel, to hide the shame, 

In Hornbook's care 5 
Horn sent her aff to her lang name, 
To hide it there. 
Vol. II. D 



50 POEMS, 

" That's just a swatch o' Hornbook's way, 
Thus goes he on from day to day, 
Thus does he poison, kill, an' slay 

A n's weel paid for i ; 
Yet stops me o' mv lawfu' prey, 

*Wi' his d-mn'd dirt : 

ce But, hark ! I'll tell you of a plot, 
Tho* dinna ye be speaking o't 5 
1*11 nail the self-conceited sot, 

As dead's a herrin ; 
Neist time we meet, I'll wad a groat, 

He gets his fairin !'* 

But just as he began to tell, 
The auld kirk-hammer strak the bell 
Some wee short hour ayont the tool, 

Whieh rais'd us baith : 
I took the way that pleas'd mysel, 

And sae did De*th. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 51 



A DREAM. 



Tho ugh U, word*, *ad deeds, the statute blames wttfc ressoa; 
Bi*t surely Dreswtt were ne'er indicted Tre*t*** 



[On reading, in the public papers, the Laureat't 
Ode, with the other parade of June 4, 1786, the 
Author was no sooner dropt asleep, than he ima- 
gined himself transported to the birth-day levee; 
and in his dreaming fancy made the following 
Address*] 

Guid-morning to your Majesty ! 

May heav'n augment your blisses, 
On ev'ry new birth-day ye see, 

A humble Poet wishes ! 
My Hardship here, at your levee, 

On sic a day as this is, 
Is sure an uncouth sight to see, 

Aniang thae birth-day dresses 
Sae fine this day. 



52 POEMS, 

I see ye're complimented thrang, 

By raonie a lord and lady ; 
" God save the king !" *s a cuckoo sang 

That's unco easy said ay ; 
The Poets, too, a venal gang 

Wi' rhymes weel-turn'd and ready, 
Wad gar ye trow ye ne'er do wrang, 

But ay unerring steady, 
On sic a day. 



For me ! before a monarch's face, 

Ev'n thert I winna flatter ; 
For neither pension, post, nor place, 

Am I your humble debtor ; 
So, nae reflection on your grace. 

Your kingship to bespatter; 
There's monie waur been o' the race, 

And aiblins ane beeu better 
Than you this day. 



*Tis very true, my sov'reign king, 

My skill may weel be doubted; 
But facts are chiels that winna ding, 

An* downa be disputed : 
Your royal nest, beneath your wing, 

Is e'en right reft an' clouted, 
And now the third part of the string, 

An' less, will gang about it 
Than did ae day. 



chiefly scorns H. 53 

Far be't frae me that I aspire 

To blame your legislation, 
Or say, ye wisdom want, or fire, 

To rule this mighty natiou ! 
But, faith ! I muckle doubt, my She, 

Ye've trusted ministration 
To chaps, wha, in a barn or byre, 

Wad better fiil'd Iheir station 

Than courts yon day. 



And now ye've gien auld Britain peace, 

Her broken shins to plaster ; 
Your sair taxation does her fleece, 

Till she has scarce a tester; 
For me, thank God, my life's a lease f 

Nae bargain wearing faster, 
Or faith ! I fear, that wi' the geese, 

I shortly boost to pasture 

F the craft some day. 



I'm no mistrusting Willie Pitt, 

When taxes he enlarges, 
(An' Wilts a true guid fallow's get, 

A name not envy spairges,) 
That he intends to pay your debt, 

An' lessea a' your charges ; 
But, G-d sake ! let nae saving-fit 

Abridge yourbonie barges 

An' boats this day* 



54 POEMS, 

Adieu, iny Liege! may freedom geek 

Beneath your high protection ; 
An' may ye rax corruption's neck, 

And gie her for dissection ! 
But since I'm here, I'll no neglect, 

In loyal, true affection, 
To pay your Queen, with due respect, 

My fealty an' subjection 

This great birth-day. 



Hail, Majesty most excellent f 

While nobles strive to please ye, 
Will ye accept a compliment 

A simple Poet gies ye ? 
Thae bonie bairn-time, Keav'nhas lent, 
Stillhigher may they heeze ye 
In bliss, till fate some day is sent, 
For ever to release ye 

Frae care that day. 



For you, young potentate o* W 

I tell your Highness fairly, 
Down pleasur's stream wi' swelling sails, 

I'm tauld ye're driving rarely ; 
But some day ye may gnaw your nails, 

An' curse your folly saiily, 
That e'er ye brak Diana's pales, 

Or rattl'd dire wi' Charlie, 
By night or day. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH/ 55 

Yet aft a ragged cowte's been known 

To mak a noble aiver ; 
So, ye may doucely fill a throne, 

For a' their clish-ma-claver : 
There, him* at Agincourt wha shone, 

Few better were or braver ; 
An yet, wi funny, queer Sir Jofcnt, 

He was an unco shaver 

For monie a day. 



For you, right rev'rend O— — -, 

Nane sets the lawn-sleeve sweeter, 
Altho' a ribbon at your lug 

Wad been a dress completer : 
As ye disown yon paughty dog 

That bears the keys of Peter, 
Then, swith ! an' get a wife to hug, 

Or, trouth ! ye'll stain the mitre 
Some luckless day. 

Young, royal Tarry Breeks, I learn, 

Ye've lately come athwart her 5 
A glorious galley\, stem an* stern, 

Weel rigg'd for Venus* barter ; 
But first hang out, that she'll discern 

Your hymeneal charter, 
Then heave aboard your grapple aira, 

An' large upo' her quarter, 

Come full that day. 



• King Henry V. 

i 8ir John Falttaff. Vide Shakspeare « 

% Alluding to the newspaper account of a certain royal sailor's ardour 



66 POEMS, 

Ye, lastly, bonie blossoms a', 

Ye royal lasses dainty, 
Heav'n mak you guid as weel as braw%> 

An' gie you lads a-plenty : 
But sneer na British boys awa% 

For kings are unco scant ay ; 
An' German gentles are but sma', 

They're better just than wain, «y 
On onie day, 

God bless you a* ! consider now, 

Ye're unco muckle dautet ; 
But, ere the course o' life be thro', 

It may be bitter sautet : 
An' I hae seen their coggie fou, 

That yet hae tarrow'd at it ; 
But or the day was done, I trow f 

The iaggen they hae clautet 
fcV clean thai day. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 5? 



SCOTCH DRINK 



Gie him strong drinkuntil he trink. 

That's sinking in despair ; 
An' liquor guid to fire his bluid , 

That's prest wi' grief an» care; 
There let him bouse and deep carouse, 

Wi' bumpers flowing o*er, 
Till he forgets his loves or debt;, 

kAn» minds his griefs no more. 
Solomons Proverbs, xzxi. 6,7 

Let other Poets raise a fracas 

'Bout vines, an* wines, an* drunken Bacchus, 

An* crabbit names an' stories wrack us, 

An* grate our lug, 
I sing the juice Scots beer can mak us, 

In glass or jug. 

O thou my Muse ! guid auld Scotcn Drink, 
Whether thro" wimplin worms thou jink, 
Or richly brown, ream o'er the brink, 

In glorious faem, 
tospire me, till I lisp and wink, 

To sing thy name ! 






58 POEMS, 

Let husky Wheat the haughs adorn, 
An' Aits set up their awnie horn, 
An' Pease and Beans at e'en or morn, 

Perfume the plain, 
Leeze me on thee, John Barleycorn, 

Thou king o' grain ! 

• On thee aft Scotland chows her cood, 
In souple scones, the wale o' food ! 
Or tumblin in the boiling flood 

Wi' kail an' beef; 
But when thou pours thy strong heart's blood, 

There thou shines chief 

Food fills the wame, an' keeps us livin , 
Tho* life's a gift no worth receivin, 
When heavy dragg'd wi' pine an* grievin ; 

But, oil'd by thee, 
Th» wheels o* life gae down-hill, scrievin, 

Wi' rattlin glee. 

Thou clears the head o' doited Lear: 
Thou cheers the heart o' droopin Care ; 
Thou strings the nerves o' Labour sair, 
At's weary toil : 
Thou even brightens dark Despair 

Wi' gloomy smile. 

Aft clad in massy siller weed. 
Wi' gentles thou erects thy head ; 
Yet humbly kind in time o' need, 

The poor man's wine, 
His wee drap parritch, or his bread, 

Thou kitchens finer 






CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 59 

Thou art the life o* public haunts ; 
But thee, what were our fairs and rants ? 
Ev'n godly meetings o' the saunts, 

By thee inspir'd, 
When gaping they besiege the tents, 

Are doubly hVd. 

That merry night we get the corn in, 
O sweetly then thou reams the horn in, 
Or reeking on a New-year morning 

In cog or bicker, 
An* just a wee drap sp'ritual burn in, 

An* gusty sucker ! 

When Vulcan gies his bellows breath, 
An* ploughmen gather wi' their graith, 
O rare ! to see thee fizz an' freath 

r th' lugget caup ! 
Then Burncwin* comes on like death 

At ev'ry chaup. 

Nae mercy, then, for aim or steel ; 
The brawnie, bainie, ploughman chiel, 
Brings hard owrehip, wp sturdy wheel, 

The strong forehammer, 
Till block an' studdie ring an' reel 

Wi' dinsome clamour. 

When skirlin weanies see the light, 
Thou maks the gossips clatter bright, 
How fumblin cuits their dearies slight ; 

Wae worth the name ; 
Nae howdie gets a social night, 

Or plackfrae them. 

* Burncwin — burn-the-wind — the Blacksmith. 



60 POEMS, 

When neebors anger at a plea, 
An* just as wud as wud can be, 
How easy can the barleybree 

Cement the quarrel ! 
It's aye the cheapest lawyer's fee, 

To taste the barrel. 

A lake I that e'er my Muse has reason 
To wyte her countrymen wi' treason ! 
But monie daily weet their weason 

WV liquors nice, 
An' hardly, in a winter's season, 

E'er spier her price. 

Wae worth that brandy, burning trash ! 
Fell source o* monie a pain an' brash ! 
Twins monie a poor, doylt, drunken hash, 

O' half his days ; 
An' sends, beside, auld Scotland's cash 
To her warstfaes. 

Ye Scots wha wish auld Scotland well, 
Ye chief, toyou my tale I tell, 
Poor placklcss devils like mysel ! 

It sets you ill, 
Wi' bitter, dearfn' wines to mell, 

Or foreign gill. 

May gravels round his blether wrench, 
An' gouts torment him inch by inch, 
Wha twists his gruntle wi' a glunch 

O' sour disdain, 
Oat-owrs a glass o' whiskey punchy 

Wi' honest men. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 61 

O whiskey I soul o' plays an' pranks ! 
Accept a Bardie's humble thanks ! 
When wanting thee, what tuneless cranks 

Are my poor verses ! 
Tbon comes — they rattle i' their ranks 

At ither's a— s! 

Thee, Ferintosh! O sadly lost ! 
Scotland, lament frae coast to coast ! 
Now colic grips, an' barkin hoaat, 

May kill us a' ; 
For loyal Forbes 9 charter'd boast, 

Is taen awa ! 

Thae curst horse-leeches o' th* Excise, 
Wha mak the whisky stells their prize ! 
Hand up thy nan', Deil ! ance, twice, thrice 

There, seize the blinkers ! 
An' bake them up in brunstane pies 

For poor d— n'd drinker*. 

' Fortune ! if thou'll but gie me still 
Hale breeks, a scone, an* whiskey giU 9 
An' rowth o' rhyme to rave at will, 

Tak a* the rest, 
An' deai't about as thy blind skill 

Directs thee best. 



POEMS, 



THE AUTHOR'S 



CRY AND PRAYER* 

TO THE SCOTCH REPRESENTATIVES I?? THE 
HOUSE OF COMMONS. 



Devest of distillation • last and best— 
——How art tnoa lost!—— 

PARODY ON MILTON. 



Ye Irish Lords, ye Knights air* Squires, 
"Wha represent our brughs an' shires, 
An* doucely manage our affairs • 

In parliament, 
To you a simple Poet's prayers 

Are humbly sent. 



* Tads was written before the act ancnt the Scotch distilleries, of 
ession 1786 ; for which Scotland and the Author return their most 
grateful cbaaks. 



4 Cfi IKFL Y S COTTI S H . 63 

Alas ! my roupet Muse is hearse ! 
Your Honours' heart wi' grief 'twad pierce, 
To see her sittin on her a — e 

Low i' the dust, 
An' scriechin out prosaic verse, 

An' like to brust T 

Tell them wha hae the chief direction, 
Scotland an' me's in great affliction, 
E'er sin' they laid that curst restriction 

On Aquavit a ; 
An' rouse them up to strong conviction, 
An' move their pity. 

Stand forth, an* tell yon Premier Youth, 
The honest, open, naked truth : 
Tell him o' mine an* Scotland's drouth, 

His servants humble : 
The muckle Devil blaw ye south, 

If ye dissemble \ 

Does onie great man glunch an' gloom? 
Speak out, an' never fash your thumb ! 
Let posts an* pensions sink or soom 

Wi' them wha grant 'em . 
If honestly they carina come, 

Far better want 'em. 

In gath'ring votes you were na slack ; 
Now stand as tightly by your tack ; 
Ne'er claw your lug, an' fidge your back, 

An' hum an' haw ; 
But raise your arm, an* tell your crack 

Before them a'. 






64 POEMS, 

Paint Scotland greeting owre her thrisslej 
Her rantchkin stoup as toom's a whissle ; 
An' d-mu'd Excisemen in a bussle, 

Seizin astell, 
Triumphant crushing like a mussel 

Or lampit shell. 

Then on the tither hand present her, 
A blackguard Smuggler right behint her, 
An' cheek-for-chow, a chuffie Vintner, 

Colleaguing join, 
Picking her pouch as bare as winter 

Of a' kind coin. 

Is there, that bears the name o* Scot, 
But feel's his heart's bluid rising hot, 
To see his poor auld mither's pot 

Thus dung in staves, 
An* plunder'd o* her hindmost groat 

By gallows knaves ? 

Alas ! I'm but a nameless wight, 
Trode i' the mire an* out o* sight ! 
But could 1 like Montgomerics fight, 

Or gab like Boswell, 
There's some sark-neck» I wad draw tight, 

An' tie some hose well. 

God bless your Honours, can ye see't, 
The kind, auld, cantie Carlin greet, 
An' no get warmly to your feet, 

An' gar them hear it, 
Ad' tell them wi' a patriot heat, 

Ye winna bear it! 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 65 

Some o you nicely ken the laws, 
To round the period, an* pause, 
An* wi* rhetoric clause on clause 

To mak harangues ; 
Then echo thro' Saint Stephen's wa's 

Auld Scotland's wrangs. 

Dempster, a true blue Scot I'se warran : 
Thee, aith-detesting, chaste Kilkerran*, 
An 1 that glib-gabbet Highland Baron, 

The Laird o' GruhutnU 
An' ane, a chap that's d-mn'd auldfarran, 

Dundas his name. 

Erskine, a spnnkie Norland billie ; 
True Campbells, Frederick, an* Hay ; 
An' Livingstone, the bauld Sir Willie ; 

An' monie ithers, 
Whom auld Demosthenes or Tully 

Might own for brithers. 

Arouse, my boys ! exert your mettle, 
To get auld Scotland back her kettle ; 
Or, faith ! I'll wad my new pleugh-pettle, 

Ye'll see't or lang, 
She'll teach you, wi' a reekin whittle, 

Anither sang. 

This while she's been in crankous mood, 
Her lost Militia fir'd her bluid ; 
(Deil ua they never mair do guid, 

Play'd her that pliskie!) 
An* now she's like to rin redwud, 

About her whiskey. 

• Sir Adam Ferguson. 

t The present Duke of Moatrwe. 

E 



66 POEMS, 

An' L— d, if auce they pit her tilPt, 
Her tartan petticoat she'll kilt, 
An' durk an' pistol at her belt, 

She'll tak the streets, 
An* rin her whittle to the hilt, 

I' the first she meets. 



For G-d sake, Sirs ! then speak her fair, 
An' straik her cannie wi' the hair, 
An' to the rauekle house repair, 

Wi* instant speed, 
An' strive, wi' a' your wit an' lear, 
To get rernead. 

Yon ill-tongu'd tinkler, Charlie Fox, 
May taunt you wi' his jeers an' mocks ; 
But gie him't het, my hearty cocks ! 

E'en cowe the caddie ; 
An' send him to his dicing box 

An' sporting lady. 

Tell yon guid bluid o' auld Boconnock't 
I'll be his debt twa mashlum bonnocks, 
An' drink his health in auld Nanse Timwck's 

Nine times aweek, 
If be some scheme, like tea an' winnocks. 

Wad kindly seek. 



• A worthy old hostess of the Author's in Xaiuhline^ where t 
fometime* rtvdtet politics over a glass of guid auld Scetcb Drink, 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 67 

Could he some commutation broach, 
I'll pledge my aith in guid braid Scotch, 
He need na fear their foul reproach 

Nor erudition, 
Yon mixtie-maxtie queer hotch-potch, 

The Coalition. 

* Auld Scotland has a raucle tongue 
She's just a devil wi' a rung ; 
An" if she promise auld or young 

To tak their part, 
Tho* by the neck she should be strung, 

She'll no desert. 

§ An' now, ye chosen Five-and- Forty, 
May still your Mither's heart support ye ; 
Then, though a Minister grow dorty, 

An* kick your place, 
Ye'll snap your fingers, poor an' hearty, 

Before his face. 

God bless your Honours a' your days, 
Wi' sowps o' kail an' brats o' claise, 
In spite o* a' the thievish kaes, 

That haunt Saint Jamie 9 $ f 
Your humble Poet sings an* prays 

While Rab his name is. 

POSTSCRIPT 

" Let half-starv'd slaves, in warmer skies, 
See future wines, rich-clustring, rise 
Their lot auld Scotland ne'er envies, 

But blyliie and frisky 
She eyes her freeborn, martial boys 

Tak aff their whiskey. 

E2 



68 POEMS, 

What tho' their Phoebus kinder warms, 
While fragrance blooms and beauty charms 
When wretches lange, in famish'd swarms, 

The scented groves, 
Or hounded forth, dishonour arms 

In hungry droves : 

Their gun's a burden on their shouther ; 
They downa bide the stink o* pouther ; 
Their bauldest thought's a hank'ring swither 

To stan' or rin, 
Till skelp— a shot ! — they're aff, a throwther, 

To save their skin. 

But bring a Skotsman frae his hill, 
Clap in his cheek a Highland gill, 
Say, such is royal Georges will, 

An' there's the foe ? 
He has nae thought but how to kill 

Twa at a blow. 

Nae cauld, faint-hearted doubtings tease him j 
Death comes, wi* fearless eye he sees him ; 
WV bluidy hand a welcome gies him : 

An' when he fa's. 
His latest draught o' breathin lea'es him 
In faint huzzas. 

Sages their solemn een may steek, 
An' raise a philosophic reek, 
An* physically causes seek, 

In clime an' season j 
But tell me whiskey's name in Greek, 

I'll tell the reason.. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 69 

Scotland, my auld respected Mither ! 
Tho' whyles ye moistify your leather, 
Till whar ye sit, on craps o' heather, 

Ye tine your dam ; 
(Freedom and whiskey gang thegither !) 

Tak affyour dram . 



ADDRESS TO THE DEIL. 



O Prince ! O Chief of many throned Vow*n . 
That led th* embattled Seraphim to war, 

MILTON. 



O thou ! whatever title suit thee, 
Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie, 
Wha in yon cavern, grim an' sootie, 

Clos'd under hatches, 
Spairges about the brunstane cootie, 

To scaud poor wretches ! 

Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee, 
An' let poor damned bodies be ; 
I'm sure sma* pleasure it can gie, 

E'en to a Deil, 
To akelp an' scaud poor dogs like me, 
An' hear us squeel ! 



70 POEMS, 

Great is thy pow'r, an' great thy fame | 
Far kenn'd and noted is thy name ; 
An' tho' yon lowin heugh's thy hame, 

Thou travels far ; 
An' faith ! thou's neither lag nor lame, 

Nor blate nor scaur. 

Whyles ranging like a roarin lion, 
For prey, a' holes an* corners tryin ; 
Whyles on the strong-wingM tempest fiyin, 

Tirling the kirks ; 
Whyles in the human bosom pryin, 
Unseen thou lurks. 

Fve heard my reverend graunie say, 
Inlanely glens ye like to stray; 
Or where auld, ruin'd castles, gray, 

Nod to the moon, 
Ye fright the nightly wand'rer's way, 

Wi' eldritch croon* 

When twilight did my graunie summon, 
To say her prayers, douce, honest woman! 
Aft yont the dyke she's heard you biimmiii* 

Wi' eerie drone ; 
Or, rustlin, thro' the boortries comin, 
Wi heavy groan. 

Ae dreary, windy, winter night, 
The stars shot down wi' sklentin light y 
Wi* you, mysel, I gat a fright, 

Ayont the lough : 
Ye, like a rash-bush, stood in sight, 

Wi* waving sugh. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 7V 

The cudgel in my nieve did shake, 
Each bristl'd hair stood like a stake, 
When wi' an eldritch stour, quaick — quaick-— 

Amang the springs, 
Awa' ye squatter'd, like a drake, 

On whistling wings. 

T Let warlocks grim, an' wither'd hags, 
Tell how wf you on ragweed nags, 
They skim the muirs, an* dizzy crags, 

Wi wicked speed ; 
And in kirk-yards renew their leagues, 

Owre howkit dead. 

Thence countra wives, wi' toil an* pain, 
May plunge an' plunge the kirn in vain ; 
For, oh ! the yellow treasure's taen 
By witching skill : 
An' dawtit, twal-pint Hawkie's gaen 
As yell's the Bill. 

F Thence mystic knots mak great abuse, 
On young guidmen, fond, keen, an' erouse ; 
When the best wark-lume i' the house, 

By cantrip wit, 
Is instant made no worth a louse, 

Just at the bit. 

When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord, 
An' float the jingling icy-boord, 
Then Water-kelpies haunt the foord, 

By your direction, 
An' nighted travelers are allur'd 

To their destruction. 



72 POEMS* 

An' aft your moss-traversing Spunkies 
Decoy the wight that late an' drunk is : 
The bleezin, curst, mischievous monkies 

Delude his eyes, 
Till in some miry slough he sunk is, 
Ne'er mair to rise. 

When Masons' mystic word an* grip 
In storms an' tempests raise you up, 
Some cock or cat your rage maun stop, 

Or, strange to tell ! 
The youngest Brother ye wad whip 

Affstraughttoh-11! 

Lang syne, in Eden's bonie yard, 
When youthfu' lovers first were pair'd, 
An/ a* the soul of love they shar'd 

The raptur'd hour, 
Sweet on the fragrant, flow'ry swaird, ' 
In shady bow'r : 

Then you, ye auld, snick-drawing dog I 
Ye came to Paradise incog. 
An* playM on man a cursed brogue, 

(Black be your fa' !) 
Aq' gied the infant warld a shog, 

'Maist ruin'd a'. 

D'ye mind that day, when in a bizi, 
Wi' reekit duds, an' reestitgizz, 
Ye did present your smoutie phiz, 

'Mang better folk, 
An* sklented on the man of Uz 

Your spitefu' joker 






CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 7$ 

An' how ye gat him i' your thrall, 
An' brak him out o' house an* hall, 
While scabs and blotches did him gall, 

Wi' bitter claw, 
An* lows'dhis illtongu'd, wicked Scawl, 

Was warst ava? 

But a' your doings to rehearse, 
Your wily snares an* fechtin fierce, 
Sin' that day Michael* did you pierce, 

Down to this time, 
Wad ding a' Lallan tongue, or Erse, 

In prose or rhyme. 

An' now, auld Cloots, I ken ye're thinkin, 
A certain Bardie's rantin, drinkin, 
Some luckless hour will send him linkin, 

To your black pit j 
But, faith ! he'll turn a corner jinkin, 

An' cheat yon yet. 

But, fare you weel, auld Nickie-ben ! 
O wad ye tak a thought an' men' ! 
Ye aiblins might— I dinna ken- 
Still hae a stake— 
I I'm wae to think upo' yon den, 

Ev'n for your sake ! 



• v at Miltca, Book YI. 



74 POEMS, 

ON THE LATE 

CAFTAIN GROSE' 



P3REGINATI0NS THROUGH SCOTLAND, COLLECT* 
ING THE ANTIQUITIES 4>FTHAT KINGDOM,* 

Hear, Land o' Cakes, and brither Scots^ 
Frae Maidenkirk to Johnny G r oat's ; 
If there's a hole in a' your coats, 

I rede you tent it : 
A caield's arnang you taking notes, 

And, faith, he'll prent it. 

If in your bounds ye chance to light 
Upon a fine, fat, fodgei wight, 
O' stature short, but genius bright, 

That's he, mark weel— 
And wow ! he has an unco slight 

O'ceuk and keel. 

By some auld, houlet-haunted biggin*, 
Or kirk deserted by its riggin, 
It's ten to ane ye'll find him snug in 

Some eldritch part, 
Wi' Deils, they say, L—d safe's ! colleaguin 

At some black art. — 

» Vide his Antiquities of Scotland. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. J5 

Ilk ghaist that haunts auld ha' or cham'er, 
Ye gipsy-gang that deal in glamor, 
And you, deep-read in hell's black grammar, 

Warlocks and witches ; 
Ife'll quake at his conjuring hammer, 

Ye midnight b — es. 

It's tauld he was a sodger bred, 
nd ane wad rather fa'n than fled ; 
ut now he's quat the spnrtlc blade, 

An' dog-skin wallet, 
nd taen the— *> Antiquarian trade, 

I think they call it. 

He has afouth o' old nick-nackets : 
i lusty aim caps and jinglin jackets*, 
Wad haud the Lotliians three in tackets, 

A towmont guid ; 
And parritch-pats, and auld sant-backets, 
Before the Flood. 

Of Eve's first fire he has a cinder ; 
Anld Tubal-Cain's fire-shool and fender 5 
That which distinguished the gender 
O' Balaam's ass ; 

fbroom-st\ck o* the witch of En dor, 
Weel shod wi' brass. 
Forbye, I e'll shape you aff, fu* gleg, 
The cut of Adam's phillibeg ; 
The knife that nicket Abel's craig 

He'll prove you fully, 
It was a faulding jocteleg, 

Orlang kail-gullie. — 

• Trestij* on Ancient Armour and Weapon*. 



76 POEMS 5 

But wad ye see him in his slee. 
Formeikle glee and fun has he, 
Then set him down, and twa or three : 

Guid fellows wi' him j 
And port, O part ! shine thou a wee, 

And then ve'll see him 

Now, by the pow'rs o' verse and pros j 
Thou art a dainty chield, O Grose ! 
Whae'er o' thee shall ill suppose 

They sair misea* tr,ee ; 
Id take the rascal by the nose, 

Wad say, Shame f* a thee ! 



LINES, 

WRITTEN IN A WRAPPER, ENCLOSING A LETTE* 
TO CAPTAIN GROSE, TO BE LEFT WITH MR. 

CARDONNEL, antiquarian. 

Tune— " Sir John Malcolm.? 

Ken ye ought o' Captain Grose? 

Il t o, ^ ago, 
If he's amang his friends or foes ? 

Iram, coram, dagc. 

Is he South, or is he North ? 

Igo, & ago, 
Or drowned in the river Forth ? 

Iram, coram, dago. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 

Is he slain by Highland bodies? 

Igo, & ago, 
And eaten like a wether-haggis ? 

Irani, coram, dago. 

Is he to Abram's bosom gane ? 

Igo, Si ago, 
Or haudin Sarah by the wame? 

Irani, coram, dago. 

Where'er he be, the Lord be near him! 

Igo, & ago, 
As for the Deil, he daur na steer him. 

Irani, coram, dago. 

But please transmit the enclosed letter, 
I;*o, & ago, 

Which will oblige your humble debtov. 
Iram, coram, dago, 

So may ye hae auld stanes in store, 
Igo, & ago. 

The very stanes that Adam bore 

Irani, coram, dago. 

So may ye get in glad possession, 
Igo, & ago, 

The coins o' Satan's coronation ! 

Irani, coram, dago. 



78 roHMS, 



EPIGRAM ON CAPTAIN GROSE. 

The Devil got notice that Grose was a-flyittg. 

So whip ! at the summons, old Satan came flying ; 
But when he approach'd where poor Francis lay 

moaning, 
And saw each bed-post with its burden a-groaning, 
Astonish'd ! confounded ! cry'd Satan, by G-d, 
1*11 want 'im, ere I take such a d— ble load*. i 



LINES 



ON AN INTERVIEW WITH LORD OAKR. 

This wot ye «11 whom it concerns, 
I Rhymer Robin, alias Burns, 

October twenty-third, 
A ne'er-to-be-forsiotten day, 
Sae far I spreckled up the brae, 

I diuner'd wi' a Lord. 



• Mr. Grose was exceedingly corpulent, and used to rally himself, 
with the greatest good humour, on the singular rotundity of his figure. 
This Epigram, written by Burns, in a moment of festivity, was so much 
tclUhel by the antiquarian, that he made it serve as an excuse for pro- 
longing the oonvivial oc casion that gave it birth to a very late hour. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 7© 

I've been at d ruck en ttriters' feasts, 
Nay, been bitch-fou 'mang godly priests, 

Wi* reverence be it spoken; 
I've even join'd the honour'd jorum, 
When mighty Sqnireships of the quorum, 

Their hydra drouth did sloken. 

Rut wi* a Lord— stand out my shin, 
A Lord— a Peer— an Earl's son, 

Up higher yet, my bonnet; 
And sic a Lord— lang Scotch ells twa, 
Our Peerage he o'erlooks them a% 

As I look o'er my sonnet. 

But oh for Hogarth's magic pow'r ! 
To show Sir Bardy's willyart glovv'r, 

And how he star'd and stammer'd 
When goavan, as if led wi' branks, 
An' stumpin on his ploughman shanks, 

He in the parlour hammer'd, 



I sliding shelter'd in a nook, 
An' at his lordship steal't a look 

Like some portentous omtn ; 
Except good-sense and social glee, 
An' (what surpris'd me) modesty, 

I marked nought uncommon. 

I watch'd the symptoms o' the Great, 
The gentle pride, the lordly state, 

The arrogant assuming ; 
The feint a pride, nae pride had he, 
Nor sauce, nor state that I could see 

Mair than an honest ploughman, 



80 POEMS, 

Then from his Lordship I shall learn, 
Henceforth to meet with unconcern 

One rank as well's another 
Nae honest, worthy man need care. 
To meet with noble, youthful Daer, 

For he but meets a brother. 



THE INVENTORY, 

IN ANSWER TO A MANDATE BY THE SURVEYOR Of 

THE TAXES. 

Sir, as your mandate did request, 
I send you here a faithfu' list, 
O' gudes an' gear, an' a* my graith, 
To which I'm clear to gie my aith. 

Imprimis then, for carriage cattle, * 
I have four brutes o' gallant mettle, 
As ever drew afore a pettle. 
My LarC afore's* a guid auld has~been y 
An' wight an* wilfu' a* his days been, \ 
My Lan' ahin*s\ a weel gaun fillie, 
That aft has borne me hame frae Killief, 
An' your auld burro* monie a time, 
In days when riding was nae crime- 
But ance, whan in my wooing pride, 
1, like a blockhead, boost to ride, 

* The fore-horse on the left hand in the plough* 
t The hindmost on the left hand in the plough. 
t Kilmarnock. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 8l 

The wilfu' creature sae I pat to, 

(L — d pardon a* my sins an* that too ! 

I playM my fillie sic a shavie, 

She's a* bedevil'd wi' the spavie. 

My Furr ahin's* a wordy beast, 

As e'er in tug or tow was trac'd. 

The fourth's a Highland Donald hagtlt*, 

A d — n'd red-wud Kilburnie blastie j 

Forbye a Cowt, o' Cowt's the wale, 

i^A evet fan afore a tail. 

If he be spar'd to be a beast, 

He'll draw me fifteen pun' at least. 

Wheel carriages I hae but few, 
Three carts, an* twa are feckly new ; 
Ae auld wheel-barrow, mair for token, 
Ae leg an' baith the trams are broken j 
I made a poker o' the spin'le, 
An my auld mither brunt the trin'le. 

For men, Fve three mischievous boys, 
Run deils for rantin and for noise ; 
A gaudsman ane, a thrasher t'other, 
Wee Davock bauds the nowt in father. 
I rule them as I ought, discreetly, 
An' aften labour them completely. 
An* ay on Sundays duly nightly, 
I on the Questions targe them tightly : 
Till, faith ! wee Davoek's turn'd sae gleg 
Tho' scarcely langer than your leg, 
He'll screed you aft' Effectual Calling, 
As fast as onie in the dwalling. 



• The hindmost horse on the left-hand in the ploogfe. 

F 



82 POEMS, 

Fve nane in female servan* station, 
(L — d keep me ay fraea' temptation !) 
I hae nae wife ; and that my bliss is. 
An* ye have laid nae tax on misses : 
An* then if kirk folks dinna clutch me, 
I ken the devils dare na touch me. 

Wi' weans I'm mair than weel contented, 
Heav'n sent me ane mae than I wanted 
My sonsie, smirking : dear-bought Bess, 
She stares the daddie in her face, 
Enough of ought ye like but grace ; 
But her, my bonie sweet, wee lady, 
I've paid enough for her already, 
An' gin ye tax her or her mither, 
B' the L — d ! ye'se get them a' thegither. 

And now, remember, Mr. Aiken, 
Nae kind of license out I'm takin ; 
Frae this time forth, I do declare, 
I'se ne'er ride horse nor hizzie mair ; 
Thro' dirt and dub for life I'll paidle, 
Ere I sae dear pay for a saddle ; 
My travel a' on foot I'll shank it, 
I've sturdy bearers, Gude be thankit. 

The kirk an' you may tak you that, 
It puts but little in your pat : 
Sae dinna put me in your buke, 
Nor for my ten white shillings luke. 

This list, wi' my aiu hand I wrote it, 
Day and date as under notit, 
Then know all ye whom it concerns, 
Subscripsi huic, Robert Burki 

w Mtssgiel, Feb, 22, 1786. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 83 



TO A LOUSE, 



ON SEEING ONE ON A LADT S BONNET 
AT CHTJRCE. 



Ha ! whare ye gaiin, ye crowlin ferlie ! 
Yonr impudence protects you sairly : 
I canna say but ye strnnt rarely, 

Owre ^aiize and lace;' 
Tho* faith, I fear, ye dine but sparely 

On sic a place. 

Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner, 
Detest'd, shunn'd, by saunt an' sinner, 
How dare ye set your fit upon her, 

Saefine a lady ! 
Gae somewhere else and seek your dinner, 

On some poor body. 

Swith, in some beggar's haffet squattle ; 
There ye may creep, and sprawl, and spratrie 
Wi' ither kindred, jumpin cattle, 

In shoals and nations : 
Whare horn nor bane ne'er dare unsettle 

Your thick plantation % 
F 2 



84 POEMS, 

Now haud ye there, ye're out o' sight^ 
Below the fatt'iills, snug an* tight ; 
Na, faith ye yet ! ye'll no be right 

Till ye've got on it. 
The vera tapmost, tow'ring height, * 

O* Miss's bonnet. 

My sooth I right bauld ye set your nose outj 
As plump and gray as onie grozet ; 
O for some rank, mercurial rozet, 

Or fell red smeddum. 
I'd gie you sic a hearty doze o't, 

Wad dress your droddum ! 

I wad na been surpris'd to spy 
You on an auld wife's flainen toy ; 
Or aiblins some bit dnddie boy, 

On's wyliecoat ; 
But Miss's fine Lunardi ! fie, 

How dare ye do't ? 

O, Jenny, dinna toss your head, 
An' set your beauties a* abread ! 
Ye little ken what cursed speed 

The blastie's makin , 
Thae winks and finger ends, I dread, 

Are notice takin! 

O wad some Pow'r the giftie gie us 
To see oursels as others see us f 
It wad frae monie a blunder free us 

And foolish notion : 
What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e ss 

And ev'n Devotion ♦ 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 85 



ADDRESS 



TO THE TOOTH-ACHE. 

My curse upon thy venom'd stang, 
That shoots my tortnr'd gums alang ; 
And thro* my lugs gies mony a twaug, 

Wi' gnawiug vengeance ; 
Tearing my nerves nrf bitter pang, 

Like racking engines ! 

When fevers burn, or ague freezes, 
Rheumatics gnaw, or cholic squeezes ; 
Our neighbour's sympathy may ease n« 

Wi' pitying moan ; 
But thee— thou hell o' a' diseases, 

Ay mocks our groan ! 

Adown my beard the slavers trickle 
I throw the wee stools o'er the mickle. 
As round the fire the giglets keckle, 

To see me loup ; 
While raving mad, I wish a heckle, 

Were in their doup. 

O' a' the num'rous human dools, 
111 har'sts, daft bargains, cutty-stools, 
Or worthy friends rak'd i* the mools. 

Sad sight to see ! 
The tricks o' knaves, or fash o* fools, 

Thou bear'st the gree. 



86 POEMSj 

Where'er that place be priests ca' hell, 
Whence a* the tones o* mis'ry yell, 
And ranked plagues their numbers tell, 

In dreadfu' raw, 
Thou, Tooth-ache, surely bear's! the bell 
Amang them a' ! 

O thou grim mischief making chiel, 
That gars the notes of discoid squeel, 
Till daft mankind aft dance a reel 

In gore a shoe-thick ; 
Gie a' the faes o' Scotland's weal 

A towmond's Tooth-ache! 



TO A HAGGIS. 

Fair fa* your honest, sonsie face, 
Great chieftain o' the puddin-race! 
Aboon them a' ye tak your place, 

Painch, tripe, or thairm ; 
Weel are ye wordy of a grace 

As lang's my arm. 

The groaning trencher there ye fill, 
Your burdies like a distant hill, 
Your pin wad help to mend a mill 

In timeo' need, 
While thro* your pores the dews distil 
Like amber bead. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 87 

His knife see rustic labour dight, 
An' cut you up wi' ready slight, 
Trenching your gushing entrails bright 

Like onie ditch ; 
And then, O what a glorious sight, 

Warm-reeking, rich ! 

Then horn for horn they stretch an' strive, 
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive, 
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve 

Are bent like drums, 
Then auld guid man, maist like to rive, 

Bethankit hums. 

Is there that o'er his French ragout, 
Or olio that wad staw a sow, 
Or fricassee wad mak her spew 

Wi- perfect sconner, 
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfV view 
On sic a dinner? 

Poor devil ! see him owre his trash, 
As feckless as a wither'd rash, 
His spindle-shank a guid whip-lash, 

His nieve a nit ; 
Thro' bloody flood or field to dash, 
O how unfit ! 

But mark the rustic, haggis-fed, 
The trembling hearth resounds his tread, 
Clap in his walie nieve a blade, 

He'll mak it whissle*, 
An' legs, an' arms, an* heads will sned, 

Like taps o' thrissle. 



POEMS, 

Ye PowVs wha mak mankind your cwe 9 \ 
And dish them out their bill o' fare, 
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware 

That jaups in luggies ; 
But if ye wish her gratefu' pray 'r. 

Gie her a Haggis ! 



THE HOLY FAIR* 



A rote of seeming truth and treat 

Hid crafty observation ; 
And secret hung, with p-nson'd crest, 

The dirk of Defamation : 
A mask that like the gorcet show*d, 

Dye-varying on the pigeon ; 
And for a mantle large and broad, 

He wrapt him in Religion. 

HYPOCRISY A-LA-MODB* 



Upofi a simmer Sunday morn, 
When Nature's face is fair, 

I walked forth to view the coin, 
An' snuff the caller air. 



• H<iiy Fair is a com mas phrase la the west of SeotferMi fbf a i 
■omental occasion. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 

Tbe rising sun owre Galston muirs, 
Wi' glorious light was glintin ; 

The hares were hirplin down the furs, 
The lav'rocks they were chantin 
Fu' sweet that day. 



As lightsomely I glowr'd abroad, 

To see a scene sae gay, 
Three Hizzies, early at the road, 

Cam skelpin up the way ; 
Twa had manteeles o' doleful black. 

But ane wi 1 lyart lining ; 
The third, that gaed a-wee-a-back, 

Was in the fashion shining, 
Fu' gay that day. 



The twa appear'd like sisters twin, 

In feature, form, an* claes ! 
Their visage, wither'd, lang, an* thin, 

An' sour as onic slaes : 
The third cam up, hap-step-an'-loup, 

As light as onie lambie, 
An* wi' a curchie low did stoop, 

As soon as e'er she saw me, 

Fu' kind that day. 



Wi' bonnet arT, quoth I, a Sweet lass, 
I think ye seem to ken me : 

I'm sure I've seen that bonie face, 
But yet I canna name ye.** 



90 POEMS, 

Quo' she, an' laughin as she spak, 
An' taksme by the hands, 

" Ye, for ray sake, hae gi'en the teck 
Of a' the ten commands 

A screed some day* 



u My name is Fun— your cronie dear f - 

The nearest friend ye hae ; 
An' this is Superstition here, 

An' that's Hypocrisy, 
I'm gaun to ♦* ******* Holy Fuir, 

To spend an hour in daffin : 
Gin ye'll go there, yon runkl'dpair, 

We will get famous laughin 
At them this day. 



Quoth I, "With a' my heart, I'll do't ; 

I'll get my Sunday's sark on, 
An' meet you on the holy spot ; 

Faith we'se hae fine remarkin !"• 
Then I gaed name at crowdie-time 

An' soon I made me ready ; 
For roads were clad, frae side to side, 

Wi' monie a wearie body, 

In droves that day. 



Here farmers gash, in ridin graith 

Gaed hoddin by their cotters; 
There, swank ies, young, in braw braid claith 

Are spj ingin o'er the gutters. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 91 

The lasses, skelpin barefit, thrang, 

In silks an' scarlets glitter ; 
Wi' sweet-milk cheese, in monie a whang, 

An' farls bak'd wi' butter 

Fu' crump that day. 



When by the plate we set our nose, 

Weel heaped up wi* ha'pence, 
A greedy glowr Black Bonnet throws, 

An' we maun draw our tippence. 
Then in we go to see the show, 

On ev'ry side they're gathrin, 
Some carrying dales, some chairs an* stool 

An' some are busy blethrin 

Right loud that day. 



Here stands a shed to fend the show'rs, 

An' screen our countra gentry, 
There, racer Jess, an' twa-tln ee wh-res, 

Are blinkin at the entry. 
Here sits a raw of tittlin jades, 

Wi* heaving breast and bare neck, 
An' there a batch of wabster lads, 

Blackguarding frae K*******ck, 
For fun this day. 



Here some are thinking on their sins. 
An' some upo* their claes; 

Ane curses feet that fyfd his shins 
Anither sighs an' prays : 



92 POEMS, 

On this hand sits a chosen swatch, 
Wi' screw'd up grace-proud faces ; 

On that a set o' chaps at watch, 
Thrang winkin on the lasses 
To chairs that day 



O happy is that man an' blest! 

Nae wonder that it pride him ! 
Whase ain dear lass, that he likes best, 

Comes ciinkin down beside him ! 
Wi* arm repos'd on the chair back, 

He sweetly does compose him! 
Which, by decrees, slips round her neck, 

An's loof upon her bosom, 

Unkenn'd that day. 



Now a' the congregation o'er 

Is silent expectation ; 
yor •••••• speels the holy door, 

Wi* tidings o' d-mn-t — n. 
Should Hortiie, as in ancient days, 

'Mang sons o' G — present him, 
The very sight o' ♦••♦•* , s f ace? 

To's ain bet hame had sent him 
Wi' fright that day. 



Hear how he clears the points o faith 
Wi' rattlin an* wi' thumpin ! 

Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath, 
He's stampiu an* he's jumpiu ! 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 93 

His lengthened chin, his turn'd-up snout, 
His eldritch squeel and gestures, 

O how they fire the heart devout, 
Like cantharidian plasters, 
On sic a day I 



But, hark ! the tent has chang'd its voice 

There's peace an* rest nae langer t 
For a' the real-judges rise, 

They canna sit for anger. 
***** opens ont his cauld harangues, 

On practice and on morals , 
An' aff the godly pour in thrangs, 

To gie the jars an* barrels 
A lift that day. 



What signifies his barren shine 

Of moral pow'rs and reason ? 
His English style an' gestures fine ; 

Are a' clean out o* season. 
Like Socrates or Antonine, 

Orsomeauld pagan Heathen, 
The moral man he does define, 

But ne'er a word o* faith in 

That's right that day. 



In guid times comes an antidote 
Against sic poison'd nostrum ; 

For *******, frae the water-fit, 
Ascends the holy rostrum : 



94 POEMS, 

See, up he's got the word o T G— , 
An' meek an' mim has view'd it, 

While Common- Sense has taen the road. 
An' afT, an' up the Cowsate*, 

Fast, fast, that day. 



Wee •****•, niest, the guard relieves, 

An' Orthodoxy raibles, 
Tho' in his heart he weel believes, 

An thinks it anld wives' fables : 
Bat, faith ! the birkie wants a Manse, 

So, caunily he hums them ; 
Altho' his carnal wit an sense 

Like hafflins-wayso'ercomes him 
At times that day. 



Now butt an' ben, the Change-house fiUf 

Wi' yill-caup Commentators : 
Here's crying out for bakes and si!ls, 

An' there the pint stowp clatters ; 
While thick an' thrang, an* loud rift' lan$ 

Wi' Logic, an' wi' Scripture. 
They raise a din, that in the end, 

Is like to breed a rupture 

O' wrath that day. 



Leeze me on drink ! if gies us mair 
Than either School or College : 

* A street so called, #Ue& uce* tbs tent in -•• — 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 95 

It kindles wit, it waukens lair, 

It pangs us fou o' knowledge. 
Be't whiskey gill, or penny wheep, 

Or onie stronger potion, 
It never fails, on drinking deep, 

To kittle up our notion 

By night or day. 

The lads an* lasses blythely bent 

To mind baith saul an' body, 
Sit round the table weel content, 

An' steer about the toddy. 
On this ane's dress, an' that ane's leuk. 

They're making observations ; 
While some are cozie i' the neuk, 

An' formin assignations, 

To meet some day. 

But now the L— d's ain trumpet touts, 

Till a* the hills are rairin, 
An' echoes back return the shouts : 

Black ****** is nae spairin s 
His piercing words, like Highland swords, 

Divide the joints an' marrow ; 
His talk o' H-ll, where devils dwell, 

Our vera sauls does harrow* 
Wi' fright that day. 

A vast, unbottom'd, boundless pit, 

Fill'dfon o' lowin brunstane, 
Wha's raging flame, an* scorchin heat, 

Wad melt the hardest whunstane ! 



Shakspeare's Bamlot. 



1 



96 POEMS, 

The half- asleep start up wi' fear, 
An' think they hear it roarin^ 

When presently it does appear, 
Twas but some neebor snorin 
Asleep that day. 

Twad be owre lang a tale, to tell 

How monie stories past, 
An* how they crowded to the yill, 

When they were a* dismist : 
How drink gaed round, in cogs an' caupa, 

Amang the furms an* benches ; 
An* cheese an' bread, frae women's lapa, 

Was dealt about in lunches, 

An' dawds that day. 

In comes a gaucie, gash Guidwife^ 

An* sits down by the fire, 
Syne draws her kebbuck an' her knife, 

The lasses they are shyer. 
The auld Guidmen, about the grace, 

Frae side to side they bother, 
Till some ane by his bonnet lays, 

An* gies them't like a tether, 
Fu' lang that day. 

Waesucks ! for him that gets nae lass, 

Or lasses that hae naething ! 
Sma* need has he to say a grace, 

Or melvie his braw claithing! 
O wives, be mindfu' ance yonrsel, 

How bonie lads ye wauttd, 
hxC dinna, for a kebbudp-beei, 

Let lasses be affronted 

On sic a das ! 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 9? 

Now Clincumbell, wi' rattlin tow, 

Begins to jow an* croon ; 
Some swagger hame the best they dow^ 

Some wait the afternoon. 
At slaps the billies halt a blink, 

Till lasses strip their shoon : 
Wi' faith and hope, an' love, an' drink, 

They're a' in famous tune, 

For crack that day. 

How monie hearts this day converts 

O sinners and o' lasses ! 
Their hearts o' stane, gin night are gan« 

As saft as onie flesh is. 
There's some are fou o' love divine ; 

There's some are fou o' brandy ; 
An* monie jobs that day betdn, 

May end in Houghmaganaie 
Some'ither ciay. 



POEMS, 



THE ORDINATION. 



For sense they little owe to frugal Heat ***** 
To please the Mob they hide the little &w*m. 



Kilmarnock Wabsters fidge an' claw # 

An' pour your creeshie nations ; 
An' ye wha leather rax an* draw, 

Of a' denominations, / 
Svvitli to the Laigh Kirk, ane an* a% 

An' there tak up your stations ; 
Then aff to B-gb—'s in a raw, 

An* pour divine libations 

For joy this day. 

Curst Common-Sense, that imp o* h-II, 

Cam in wi* Maggie Lauder* ; 
But O ••••••• aft made her yell, 

An' R * * * * * sair misca'd her ; 
This day M< *••••• • takes the flail, 

And he's the boy will blaud her! 
He'll clap a shavgan on her tail, 

An' set the bairns to daub her 
WV dirt this day. 



' Alluding to a scoffing ballad which was made on the zdmisiioa Of 
ifcc Utc reverend and worthy Mr. L. to the Laigh Kirk. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 99 

Mak haste an' turn King David owre, 

An' lilt wi' holy clangor ; 
O* double verse come gie us four, 

An' skirl up the Bangor ; 
This day the Kirk kicks up a stour, 

Nae mair the knaves shall wrang her 
For Heresy is in her pow'r, 

An* gloriously she'll whang her 
Wi* pith this day. 

Come, let a proper text be read, 

An* touch it aff wi' vigour, 
How graceless Ham* leugh at his Dad, 

Which made Canaan a niger ; 
Or Phineasf drove the murdering blade, 

Wi' wh-re-abhorring rigour ; 
Or Zipporah\, the scauldin jade, 

Was like a bluidy tiger 

I* th* inn that day. 

There, try his mettle on the creed, 
And bind him down wi' caution, 
That Stipend is a carnal weed 
^He taks but for the fashion ; 
And gie him o'er the flock, to feed, 
And punish each transgression ; 
Especial, rams that cross the breed, 
Gie them sufficient threshin, 

Spare them nae day. 



• Genesis, ch. ix. ver. 21. 
t Numbers, ch. xxv. ver. 8. 
I ExcJus, ch iv. v;r. 



100 poems/ 



Now auld Kilmarnock cork thy tail, 

And toss thy horns fu' canty ; 
Nae mair thou'lt rowte out-owre the dale 

Because thy pasture's scanty ; 
For lapfu's large o' gospel kail 

Shall fill thy crib in plenty, 
An' runts o' grace the pick and wale, 

No gien by way o' dainty, 
But ilka day. 

Nae mair by EnbeVs streams we'll weep 

To think upon our Zion; 
And hing our riddles up to sleep, 

Like baby- clouts a-dryin : 
Come screw the pegs wi' tunefu' cl*eep, 

And o'er the thairms be tryin ; 
Oh, rare ! to see our elbucks wheep, 

An' a' like lamb-tails flying 
Fu' fast this day ! 

Lang Patronage, wi' rod o* airn, 

Has shor'd the Kirk's undoin, 
As lately F-nw-ck, sair forfairn, 

Has proven to its ruin : 
Our Patron, honest man ! Glencairn, 

He saw mischief was brewin : 
And, like a godly elect bairn, 

He's wal*d us out a true ane, 

And sound this day, 

Now r»*»**»* harangue nae mair. 
But steek your gab for ever . 

Or try the wicked town of Ayi , 
For there they'll think you clever 






CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 101 

Or, nae reflection on your lear, 

Ye may commence a Shaver ; 
Or to the N-th~rt-n repair 

And turn a carpet-weaver 

Aff-haud this day. 

M**** * and you were just a match, 

We never had sic twa drones : 
Auld Hornie did the Laigh Kirk watch, 

Just like a winkin baudrons : 
And ay he catch'd the tither wretch. 

To fry them in his caudrons . 
But now his honour maun detach, 

Wi' a' his brimstone squadrons, 
Fast, fast this day. 

See, see auld Orthodoxy's faes 

She's swingein thro' the city : 
Hark, how the nine-taii'd cat she plays J 

I vow it's unco pretty : 
There, Learning, with his Greekish face, 

Grunts out some Latin ditty ; 
And Common Sense is gaun, she says, 

To mak to Jamie Beat tie 

Her plaint this day. 

But there's Morality himsel, 

Embracing all opinions ; 
Hear, how he gies the tither yell, 

Between his twa companions ; 
See, how she peels the skin an' fell, 

As ane were peelin onions ! 
Now there — they're packed afFtoh«f| f 

And banish'd our dominions, 

Henceforth this day. 



102 VOEMS, 

O happy day ! rejoice, rejoice* 
Come, bouse about the porter ! 

Morality's demure decoys 

Shali here nae mair find quarter : 

M'******% K*****, are the boys, 
That heresy can torture ; 

They'll gie her on a rape a hoyse, 

And cow her measure shorter 

Bythehrad some day. 

Come, bring the tither mutchkin in, 

And here's, for a conclusion, 
To every New Light* mother's son, ■ 

From this time forth, Confusion: 
If mair they deave us with their din, • 

Or Patronage intrusion, 
We'll light a spunk, and, ev'ry skin, 

We'll rin them affin fusion 

Like oil, some day. 



• 3e« Note, toI. I.p.?4& 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 103 



ADDRESS 



TO THE UNCO GUID, Oil THE RIGIDLY 
RIGHTEOUS, 



My son, these maxims mate a rule, 

And lump them ay the^ither » 
The rigid RigkteoKi is a fool * 

The rigid Wise anithev 
The cleanest corn that e'er vas (Sight 

May hae some pyles o» caff in j 
So ne'er a fellow-creature slight 

For random fit* o' daffin. 

Solomon*-— Eccles. ctu vii. ver 16. 



O ye wha are sae guid yoursel, 

Sae pious and sae holy, 
Ye've nought to do but mark and tell 

Your neebors' faults and folly ! 
Whaselife is like a weel-gaun mill 

Supply'd wi* store o' water, 
The heapet happer's ebbing still, 

And still the clap plays clatter. 

Hear me, ye venerable core, 

As counsel for poor mortals, 
That frequent pass douce Wisdom's door, 

For glaikit Folly's portals ; 



104 POEMS, 

I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes, 
Would here propone defences, 

Their donsie tricks, their black mistakes* 
Their failings and mischances. 



Ye see your state wi' their's compared, 

And shudder at the niffer, 
But cast a moment's fair regard, 

What maks the mighty differ ; 
Discount what scant occasion gave, 

That purity ye pride in, 
(And what's aft mair than a' the lave) 

Your better art o' hiding. 



Think, when your castigated pulse 

Gies now aud then a wallop, 
What ragings must his veins convulse, 

That still eternal gallop : 
Wi* wind and tide fair i' your tail, 

Riiiht on ye scud your sea-way ; 
But in the teeth o' baith to sail, 

It maks an unco leeway. 



See social life and glee sit down, 

All joyous and unthinking, 
Till qnite transmugrify'd, they're gi owa 

Debauchery and drinking ; 
O, would they stay to calculate 

Til' eternal consequences : 
Or your more dreaded hell to state, 

D-mnation of expenses ! 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 105 

Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames, 

Ty'd up in godly laces, 
Before ye gie poor frailty name* 

Suppose a change o* cases , 
A dear lov'd lad, convenience sit^f, 

A treacherous inclination— 
But, let me whisper i' your lug, 

Ye're aiblins nae temptation. 

Then gently scan your brother man, 

Still gentler sister woman ; 
Tho' they may gang a kennin wrang ; 

To step aside is human : 
One point must still be greatly dark, 

The moving why they do it : 
And just as lamely can ye mark, 

How far perhaps they rue it. 

Who made the heart, 'tis He alone 

Decidedly can try us, 
He knows each chord — its various tGne, 

Each spring — its various bias ■ 
Then at the balance let's be mute, 

We never can adjust it ; 
What's done we partly may computf , 

But know not what's re mis d. 



1 



roEMS, 



THE TWA HERDS 



O a' ye pious, godly flocks, 
Well fed on pastures orthodox, 
Wha now will keep you frae the fox, 

Or worrying tykes, 
Or wha will tent the waifs and crocks 

About the dykes? 

' The twa best Herds in a* the wast, 
That e'er gae gospel horn a blast, 
These five-and-twenty summers past, 

O ! dool to tell, 
Hae bad a bitter, black out-cast 

At ween themsel, 

O M y, man, and wordy K If, 

How could you raise so vile a bustle, 
Ye'll see how new-light Herds will whistle, 

And think it fine ! 
The L— d's cause ne'er gat sic a twistle, 
Sin' I hae min\ 



* This piece was among the first of our Author's productions which 
fee submitted to the public ; and was occasioned by a dispute betweco 
•^Clergymen, nwir Kilmarnock, 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH, Iff* 

O, Sirs ! whae'er wad hae expeckit 
Your duty ye wad sae negleckit, 
Ye wha were ne'er by lairds respeckit ! 

To wear the plaid, 
But by the brutes themselves eleckit, 

To be their guide. 

What flock wi' M y's flock could rank, 

Sae hale and hearty every shank, 
Nae poison'dsour Arminian stank, 

He let them taste, 
Frae Calvin's well, ay clear they drank, 

O sic a feast ! 

The thummart wil'-cat, brock, and tod, 
Weel kenn'd his voice thro a' the wood, 
He smell'd their ilka hole and road, 

Baith out and in, 
And weel he lik'd to shed their bluid, 

And sell their skin. 

What Herd like R 11 tell'd his ta!?, 

His voice was heard thro' muir and dais, 
He kenn'd the Lord's sheep, ilka tail, 

O'er a' the height, 
And saw gin they were sick or hale, 

At the first sight. 

He fine a mangy sheep could scrub, 
Or nobly fling the gospel club, 
And new-light Herds could nicely drub, 

Or pay their skin, 
Could 3hake them o'er the burning dub ; 

Or heave them in. 



108 POEMS, 

Sic twa!— O, do I live to see't ! 
Sic famous twa should disagreet, 
Ail' names, like villain, hypocrite, 

Ilk ither gi'en, 
While Dew-light Herds, wi' laughin spite 

Say neither's liein' ! 

A* ye wha tent the gospel fauld, 

There's D n deep, and P s shaul, 

But chiefly thou, apostle A — d, 

We trust iu thee, 
That thou wilt work them, hot and cauld, 

Till they agree. 

Consider, Sirs, how we're beset, 
There's scarce a new Herd that we get> 
But comes frae 'mang tlvat cursed set, 

T winnaname, 
I hope frae heav'n to see them yet 
In fiery flame. 

D e has been lang our fae, 

M* II lias wrought us meikle wae, 

And that curs'd rascal ca'd M e, 

And baith the S s, 

That aft hae made us black and blae, 

Wi' vengefu' paws. 

Auld W w lang has hatch'd mischief 

We thought ay death wad bring relief, 
But he has gotteu, to our grief, 

Ane to succeed hin^ 
A chicl wha'll soundlv buff our beef • 

I meikle dread him. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 109 

** And monie a ane that I could tell, 
Wha fain would openly rebel, 
Forbye turn-coats arnang oursel, 

There S — h for ane, 
I doubt he's but a grey nick quill, 

An' that ye'U fin*. 

O ! a' ye flocks, o'er a' the hills, 
By mosses, meadows, moors, and fells, 
Come join your counsel and your skills, 

To cowe the lairds, 
And get the brutes the power themsels, 

To choose their Herds. 

Then Orthodoxy yet may prance, 
And Learning in a woody dance, 
And that fell cur ca*d Common Sense, 

That bites sae sair, 
Be banish'd o'er the sea to France : 

Let him bark there. 

Then Shaw's and D'ryrnple's eloquence, 
M'— — — ll's close, nervous excellence, 
M' Q — *s pathetic, manly sense, 

And guid M' h, 

Wi' S — th, wha thro' the heart can glance^ 

May a* pack aff. 



THE CALF. 

TO THE REV. MR. — , 

Onbit<Text,M&lacki, ch.iv. vcr. Z. n And they shall go fo?*h $ S33i 
growr up, lite calves of the atalL" 

Right, Sir! your text I'll prove it tme 

Tho' Heretics may laugh ; 
For instance, there's yoursel just now,. 

God knows, an unco Calf I 

And should some Patron be so kind, 

As bless you wi' a kirk, 
I doubt na, Sir, but then we'll find, 

Ye're still as great a Siirk. 

But, if the Lover's raptur'd hour 

Shall ever be your lot, 
Foibid it, ev'ry heavenly Power, 

You e'er should be a Slot ! 

Tho', when some kind, connubial Dear, 

Your but-and-ben adorns, 
The like has been, that you may wear 

A noble head of horns. 

And in your lug, most reverend Jame$ 

To hear you roar and rowte, 
Few men o' sense will doubt your claim* 

To rank ainang the nowte. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH 111 

And when ye're number' d \\i* the dead, 

Below a grassy hillock, 
Wi' justice they may mark your head— • 

" Here lies a famous Bullock!" 



HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER. 

O Thou, wha in the heavens dost dwell, 
Wha, as it pleases best thysel', 
Sends ane to heaven and ten to hell, 

A' for thy glory, 
And no for ony guid or ill 

They've done afore thee 

I bless and praise thy matchless might, 
Whan thousands thou hast left in night. 
That I am here afore thy sight, 

For gifts an* grace, 
A burnin an* a shinin light, 

To a' this place. 

What was I, or my generation, 
That I should get such exaltation i 
I, wha deserve sic just damnation, 

For broken laws, 
Five thousand years 'fore my creation, 

Thro* Adam's cause 



112 POEMS, 

When frae my mither's womb I fell, 
Thou might hae plunged me in hell, 
To gnash my gums, to weep and wail, 

In burnin lake, 
Whar damned Devils roar and yell, 
Chain'd to a staik. 

Yet I am here a chosen sample, 
To show thy grace is great an' ample ; 
I'm here a pillar in thy temple, 

Strong as a rock, 
A guide, a buckler, an' example 

To a' thy flock. 

O L — d thou kens what zeal I bear, 
"When drinkers drink, and swearers swear 
And singin there, and dancin here, 

Wr £reat an' sma* ; 
For I am keepit by thy fear, 

Free frae them a*. 

But yet, O L — d ! confess I must, 
At times I'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust, 
An* sometimes too, wi' warldly trust, 
Vile self gets in ; 
But thou rememjbers we are dust, 
Defil d in sin. 



Resides, I farther maun allow, 
Wi* Lizzie's lass, three times I trow; 
But L — d, that Friday I was fou ; 

When I came near her, 
Or else, thou kens, thy servant true 

Wad ne'er hae steer'd her. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 113 

Maybe thou lets this fleshly thorn, 
Beset thy servant e'en and morn, 
Lest he owre high and proud should turn, 

'Cause lie's sae gifted ; 
If sae, thy han' maun e'en be borne, 

Until thou lift it. 

L — d bless thy chosen in this place, 
For here thou hast a chosen race ; 
But G-d confound their stubborn face, 

And blast their name, 
Wha bring thy elders to disgrace, 

An* public shame. 

L — d, mind G— n H n's deserts. 

He drinks, an' swears, an' plays at carts, 
Yet has sae monie takin arts, 

Wi' grit an' sma\ 
Frae G — d's ain priest the people's heart§ 

He steals awa\ 

An' whan we chastenM him therefore, 
Thou kens how he bred sic a spiore, 
As set the warld in a roar 

O' lauglrin at us ; 
Curse thou his basket and his store, 
Kail an' potatoes. 

L — d, hear my earnest cry an' pray f r, 
Against that presbyt'ry o' Ayr ; 
Thy strong right hand, L — d make it b&rr y 

Upo' their heads, 
L«- d weigh it down, and dinna spare, 
For their misdeeds ♦ 
Vol. it. li 



i 



114 POEMS, 






O L— d my G-d, that glib-tongu'd A— ■*«, 
My very heart an' saul are quakin, 
To think how we stood sweatin, shakin, 

An' p— d wi' dread, 
While he, wi* hingin lips and snakin, 

Held up his head. 

L— d, in the day of vengeance try hinij 
L — d, visit them wha did employ him, 
An' pass not in thy mercy by 'em, 

Nor hear their pray'r % 
But, for thy people's sake, destroy 'em, 

And dinna spare. 

But, L— d, remember me and mine 
Wi* mercies temp'ral and divine, 
That I for gear and grace may shine, 

Excell'd by nane, 
An* a' the glory shall be thine, 

Amen, Amen. 



BPITAPH ON HOLY WILLIS. 

Here Holy Willie's sair-worn clay 

Taks up its last abode ; 
His saul has taen some other way t 

I fear the left-hand road. 

Stop ! there he is as sure's a gun, 

Poor silly body, see him ; 
Nae wonder he's as black's the grm 

Observe wha's standing wi' him. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH* 115 

Yonrbrunstane devilship, I see, 

Has got him there before ye; 
But haud your nine-tail cat a-wee f "' 

Till ance you've heard my story. 

Your pity I will not implore, ' 

For pity ye hae nane ; 
Justice, alas! has gien him o'er, 

And mercy's day is gaen. 

Bnt hear me, Sir, Deil as ye are, 1 
Look something to your credit ; 

A coof like him wad stain your name, 
If it were kent ye did it. 



THE KIRK'S ALARM*, 
A SATIRE. 

OR7HODOX,Orthodox, wha believe in John Knosfe 
Let me sound an alarm to your conscience ; 

There's a heretic blast has been blawn in the wast, 
That what is no sense must be nonsense. 

Dr. Macf, Dr. Mac, you should stretch on a rack, 

To strike evil-doers wi' terror ; 
To join faith and sense upon onie pretence, 

Is heretic, damnable error. 

* This Poem wui written a short time after the publication of Br, 
If 'GUI's Essay, 
t Dr. M'Giil. 

H2 



115 POEMS, 

Town of Ayr, town of Ayr, it was mad, I declare, 
To meddle wi' mischief a-brewing , 

Provost John is still deaf to the church's relief, 
And orator Bob* is its ruin. 

D'rymple mildt, D'rymple mild, tho' your heart's 
like a child, 

And your life like the new driven snaw, 
Yet that winna save ye, auld Satan must have ye, 

For preaching that three's ane and twa. 

Rumble Johnt, Rumble John, mount the steps wi* 
a groan, 

Cry the book is wi' heresy cramm'd ; 
Then lug out your ladle, deal brimstone like adle, 

And roar every note of the damn'd. 

Simper James||, Simper James, leave the fair Killie 
darnes, 

There's a holier chace in your view; 
I'll lay on your head, that the packye'il soon lead, 

For puppies like you there's but few. 

Singet Sawney§, Singet Sawney, are ye herding 
the penny, 

Unconscious what evils await ; 
Wi' a jump, yell, and bowl, alarm every senl, 

For the foul Thief is just at your gate. 



• % m — t A E— tt. 

I Mr. I 



CRiE* Y SCOTTISH^ 117 

Daddy Auld •, Daddy Auld, there's a tod in the 
fanld, 
A tod meikle waur than the Clerk ; 
Tho* ye can do little skaith, yell be in at tlic 
death, 
Andgif ye eanna bite, ye may bark. 

Davie Blusterr, Davie Bluster, if for a saint ye 
do muster, 
The corps is no nice of recruits : 
Yet to worth let's be just, royal blood ye might 
boast, 
If the ass was the king of the brutes. 

Jamy GooseJ, Jamy Goose, ye hae made but 
toom roose, 
In hunting the wicked Lieutenant ; 
But the Doctor's your mark, for the L— d's haly 
ark, 
He has cooper' d and caw'd a wrang pin in't. 1 

Poet WillieU, Poet Willie, gie the Doctor a volley, 
Wi' your liberty's chain and your wit ; 

O'er Pegasus* side ye ne'er laid a-stride, 

Ye but smelt, man, the place where he sh-t. ^ 

Andro Gouk$, Andro Gouk, ye may slander the 
book, 

And the book not the waur let me tell ye! 
Ye are rich, and look big, but lay by hat and wig^ 

And ye'll hae a calf's head o* sraa' value. 



• Mr. A— d. T Mr. G 1 of 

f Mr. Y— g of C— a— k. | Mr. P— b— • of A-r. 

| Dr. A. M— VL 



118 POEMS, 

BarrStenie*, Barr Sterne, what mean ye? what 
mean ye? 

If ye'll meddle naemair wi 'the matter, 
Ye may hae some pretence to bavins an sense, \ 

Wi* people wha ken ye nae better. 
Irwine sidef, Irwine side, wi' your turkey-cock 
pride, 

Of manhood but sma'is your share ; 
Ye've the figure, 'tis true, even your faes will 
allow, 

And your friends they dare grant you nae mair. 
Muirlaud Jockj, Mair land Jock, when the L — d 
makes a rock 

To crush Common Sensefor her sins, 
If ill-manners were wit, there's no mortal so fit 

To confound the poor Doctor at once. 
Holy Will|, Holy Will, there was wit i' your skull, 

When ye pilfer'd the alms o' the poor; 
The timmer is scant, when ye're taen for a saint, 

Wha should swing in a rape for an hour. 
Calvin's sons, Calvin's sons, seize your sp'ritual 
guns, 

Ammunition you never can need ; 
Your hearts are the stuff, will be powther enough 

And your skulls are storehouses o' lead. 
Foot Burns, Poet Burns, wi' your priest-skelpin* 
turns, 

Why desert ye vour aiild native shire ? 
Your Muse is a gipsie, e'en tho' she were tipsie , 

She coif d ca' gs nae waui than we are. 

* S n V — g A 3—- r, S fc of G — a 

f ISr.S a. t An E'.dcrir. M— ft. 



1 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 119 



LETTER 

fO JOHN GOUDIE, KILMARNOCK, 

On the Publication of his Essays, 

O goudie ! terror o' the Whigs, 
Dread o* black coats and rev'rend wigs 
Soor bigotry, on her last legs, 

Girnin looks back, 
Wishing the ten Egyptian plagues 

Wad seize you quick* 

Poor gapin, glowrin Superstition, 
Waes me ! she's in a sad condition ; 
Fy, bring Black-Jock her state physician. 

To see her w-ter ; 
Alas! there's ground o' great suspicion 

She'll ne'er get better. 

Auld Orthodoxy lang did grapple 
But now she's got an unco ripple, 
Haste, gie her name up i' the chapel, 

Nigh unto death ; 
See how she fetches at the thrapple, 
Ac gasps for breath. 



L 



120 POEMS, 

Enthusiasm's past redemption, 
Gaen in a galloping consumption, 
Not a' the quacks wi' a' their gumption, 

Will ever mend her, 
Her feeble pulse gies strong presumption, 
Death soon will end her. 

Tis you and Taylor* are the chief, 
Wha are to blame for this mischief ; 
But gin the Lord's ain focks gat leave, 

A toom tar-barrel 
An* twa red peats wad send relief, 

An' end the quarrel^ 



A DEDICATION, 

TO GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ. 

Expect na,Sir, in this narration, 
A fleeching, fleth'rin dedication, 
To roose you up, an' ca' you guid, 
An' sprung o' great an' noble bluid, 
Because ye're surnam'd like his grace, 
Perhaps related to the race ; 
Then when I'm tir'd — and sae are ye, 
Wi' monie a fulsome, sinfu' lie, 
Set up a face, how I stop short, 
For fear your modesty be hurt. 

• Dr, Taylor, of Morwich. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 121 

This may do— maun do, Sir, wi* them wha 
.Maun please the great folk for a wamefou ; 
For me ! sae laigh I needna bow, 
For, Lord be thankit, / can plough; 
<And when I downa yoke a naig, 
Then, L — d be thankit, I can beg ; 
Sae I shall say, an' that's nae flatt'rin, 
.It's just sic Poet, an' sic Patron, 

The Poet, some guid angel help him," 
Or else, I fear some ill ane skelp him, _ * ' 
He may do weel for a' he's done yet, 
But only he's no just begun yet. 

The Patron, (Sir, ye maun forgie me, 
I winna lie, come what will o' me) 
On ev'ry hand it will allow'd be, 
He's just nae better than he should be/. 

I readily and freely grant, 
He downa see a poor man want ; 
What's no his ain he winna tak it, 
What ance he says he winna break it ; 
Ought he can lend he'll no refus't, 
Till aft his goodness is abus'd : 
{ And rascals whyles that do him wrang, 
Ev'n that, he does not mind it Iang : 
As master, landlord, husband, father, 
He does na fail his part in either. 

But then, nae thanks to him for a' that j 
Nae godly symptom ye can ca' that; 
It's naething but a milder feature, 
Of our poor, sinfu* corrupt nature : 
: Ye'll get the best o' moral works, 
'Mang black Gcntoos and pagan Turks, 



: 



122 POEMS, 

Or hunters wild on Ponotaxi, 

Wha never heard of orthodoxy 

That he's the poor man's friend in need, 

The gentleman in word and deed, 

It's no thro' terror of d-mnation : 

It s just a carnal incliuation. 

Morality ! thou deadly bane, 
Thy tens o' thousands thou hast slain ! 
Vain is his hope, whose stay and trust is 
In moral mercy, truth, and justice ! 

No — stretch a point to catch a plack ; 
Abuse a brother to his back ; 
Steal thro' a winnock frae a wh-re, 
. But point the rake that takes the door ; 
Be to the poor like onie whims lane, 
And haud their noses to the grunstane % 
Ply every art o* legal thieving ; 
No matter, stick to sound believing. 

Learn three mile pray'rs, and half-mile .graces, 
' Wi* weel-spread*looves, an' lang wry faces ; 
Grunt up a solemn, lengthen'd groan, 
And damn a' parties but your own ; 
I'll warrant then, ye're nae deoeiver, 
A steady, sturdy, staunch believer. 

O ye wha leave the springs of C-lv-n, 
For gumlie dubs of your ain delvin ! 
Ye sons of heresy and error, 
Ye'il some day squeel in quakin terror ! 
, When vengeance draws the sword in wrath, 
And in the fire throws the sheath ; 
When Ruin with his sweeping besom, 
Just frets till Heav'n commission gies bim * 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 123 

#hile o'er the harp pale rais'ry moans, 
And strikes the ever-deep'ning tones, 
Still louder shrieks, and heavier groans ! 

Your pardon, Sir, for this digression, 
I maist format my Dedication ! 
But when divinity comes cross me, 
My readers still are sure to lose me. '- 1 

So, Sir, ye see 'twas nae daft vapour, 
But I maturely thought it proper, 
When a' my works I did review, 
To dedicate them, Sir, to You : 
Because (ye need na tak it ill) 
I thought them something like yoursel. 

Then patronise them wi' your favour, 
And your petitioner shall ever— 
I had amaist said, ever pray, 
But that's a word I need na say : 
For prayin I hae little skill o't ; 
¥m baith dead-sweer, an' wretched ill o't ; 
But I'se repeat each poor man's pray'r, 
That kens or hears about you, Sir »— 

( May ne'er misfortune's growling bark. 
Howl thro' the dwelling o' the Clerk! 
May ne'er his gen'rous, honest heart, 
For that same gen'rous spirit smart! 
May ^•••••'s far honourM namg 
Lang beet his hymeneal flame, 
TillH""*"s, at least a dizen, 
Are frae their nuptial labours risen . 
Five bonie lasses round their table 
And seven braw fellows, stout atf able 



124 POEMS, 

To serve their king and country weel, 
By word, or pen, or poiuted steel ! 
Way health and peace, with mutual rays, 
Shine on the evening o' his days ; 
Till his wee curiie John's ier-oe. 
When ebbing life nae mair shall flow, 
The last, sad mournful rites bestow !** 

I will not wind alang conclusion, 
WP complimentary effusion : 
But whilst your wishes and endeavours 
Are blest wi' Fortune's smiles and favours, 
I am, dear Sir, with zeal most fervent, 
Your much indebted, humble servant. 

But if (which powers above prevent !) 
That iron-hearted carl Want, 
Attended in his grim advances, 
By sad mistakes, and black mischances, 
While hopes, and joys, and pleasures fly him, 
Make you as poor a dog as I am, 
Your humble servant then no more ; 
For who would humbly serve the poor? 
But by a poor man's hopes in Heav'n I 
While recollection's pow'r is given, 
If, in the vale of humble life, 
The victim sad of Fortune's strife, 
I, thro' the tender gushing tear, 
Should recognise my master dear, 
If friendless, low. we meet together,' 
Then, Sir, your hand— my friend and brother. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 125 

LINES 

ADDRESSED TO MR. JOHN RANKEN, 

Ae day as Death, that grusome carl, 
"Was driving to the tither warl*, 
A mixtie-maxtie motley squad, 
And monie a guilt-bespotted lad ; 
Black jjowns of each denomination, 
And thieves of every rank and station, 
From him that wears the star and garter, ] 
To him that wintles in a halter ; 
Asham'd himself to see the wretches, 
He mutters, glow'ring at the b~ es, 
" By G — 1*11 not be seen behint them, 
Nor 'mang the sp'ritual corps present them, 
Without, at least, ae honest man, 
To grace this damn'd infernal clan." 
By Adamhill a glance he threw, 
u L — d G — d!" quoth he, " I have it now, 
There's just the man I want, in faith," 
And quickly stopped Ranken's breath* 



LINES, 

WRITTEN BY BURNS, WHILE ON HIS DEATH-BED 
TO THE SAME. 

He who of R — k— n sang, lies stiff and dead 
And a green grassy hillock* hides his head $ 
Alas ! alas ! a devilish change indeed I 



126 POEMS, J 

EXTEMPORE, 

ON TEE LATE MX. WILLIAM 3MELLIX. 

To Crochallan came* 
The old cock'd hat, the grey surtont, the same ; 
His bristling beard just rising in its might, 
Twas four long nights and days to shaving-night, 
His uncomb'd grizzly locks wild staring, thatchM 
A head for thought profound and clear, unmatched; 
Yet, tbo' his caustic wit was biting, rude, 
His heart was warm, benevolent, and good. 



At a Meeting of the Dumfriesshire Volunteers, 
aeid to commemorate the anniversary of Rod- 
ney's Victory, April 12th, 1782, Burns was cal- 
led upon for a Song, instead of which be deliver- 
ed the following Lines extempore : 

Jkstead of a song, boys, I'll give you a toast, 
Here's the memory of those on the twelfth that we 

lost: 
lhat we lost, did I say, nay, by Heav'n that we 

found, 
For their fame it shall last while the world goes 

round. 
The next in succession, I'll give you the Kin?, 
Whoe'er would betray him, on high may he swing . 

Mr. Smell ie and Eurns were beta members of a club ia Eiiabttrgt* 
cafcxi the Crotballan Fetuible*. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 1 12/ 

I An fere's the grand fabric, our free constitution, 
As built on the base of the great Revolution ; 
I And, longer with Politics not to be cramm'd, 
|Be Anarchy curs'd, and be Tyranny daniu'd ; 
And who would to Liberty e'er prove disloyal, 
May his son be a hangman, and he his first trial. 



EXTEMPORE, 

TO MR. S**E, ON REFUSING TO DINE WITH HIM, AFTER 
HAVING BEEN PROMISED THE FIRST OF COMPANY, AND 
THE FIRST OF COOKERY. 

No more of your guests, be they titled or not, 

And cook'ry, the first in the nation ; 
Who is proof to thy personal converse and wit, 

Is proof to all other temptation. 
December 17, 1795. 



TO MR. S**E. 

WITH A PRESENT OF A DOZEN O* PORTER, 

O had the malt thy strength of mind, 

Or hops the flavour of thy wit ; 
'Twere drink for first of human kind, 
A gift that e'en forS**e were fit-, 
Jerusalem Tavern, Dumfries* 






128 POEMS, 



EXTEMPORE, ._ 

WRITTEN IN ANSWER TO A CARD FROM AN INTIMAT* 
OF BURNS, INVITING HIM TO SPEND AN. HOUR AT A 
TAVERN. 

The King's most humble servant, L 
Can scarcely spare a minute $ ' " 
But I'll be wi' ye by an' bye, 

Or else the Deil's be in it. 



EXTEMPORE, 

WRITTEN IN A LADY'S POCKET BOOK. 

Grant me, indulgent Heav'n, that I may live 
To see the miscreants feel the pains they give ; 
Deal Freedom's sacred treasures free as air, 
Till slave and despot be but things which were. 



LINES 

& MISS J. SCOTT, OF AYR., 

Oh ! had each Scot of ancient times, 
Been, Jeany Scott, as thou art, 
The bravest heart on English ground, 
Had yielded like a coward. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 12$ 



LINES' 

ON EEINO ASKED, WHY GOD HAD MADE MISS 
DAVIS SO LITTLE, AND MRS.*** SO LARGE. 

Written en a Pane of Glass in the Inn at Moffat. 

Ask why God made the gem so small, 

An* why so huge the granite * 
Because God meant mankind should set 
^ The higher value on it. 



LINES 

WRITTEN UNDER THE PICTURE OF THE CELE- 
BRATED MISS BURNS. 

Cease, ye prudes, your envious railing, 
Lovely Burns has charms— con/ess; 

True it is, she had one failing, 
Had a woman ever less ? 



LINES 

WRITTEN AND PRESENTED TO MRS. KEMBLE 
I SEEING HER IN THE CHARACTER OFYAUlCJ* 

Kemble, thou cur'stmy unbelief 

Of Moses and his rod ; 
At Yarico's sweet notes of grief •*- 
The rock with tears had flow & 
Dumfries Theatre, 1794. 
Vol. a. I 



•A 



130 oems, ; 



1 



LINES 

WRITTEN ON WINDOWS OF THE GLOB*) TAVERN, 
DUMFRIES. 

The greybeard, old Wisdom, may boast of his 
treasures, 
Give me with gay folly to live ; 
I grant him his calm-blooded, time-settkd plea- 
sures, 
But Folly has raptures to give. 

I murder hate by field or flood, 

Tho' glory's name may screen us ; 
In wars at hame I'll spend my blood. 

Life-giving war of Venus. 

The deities that I adore, 

Are social Peace and Plenty ; 
I'm better pleas'd to make one more, 

Than be the death of twenty. 

My bottle is my holy pool, 
That heals the wounds o' care an* dool , 
And pleasure is a wanton trout, 
An' ye drink it, ye'll find him out. 



In politics if thou would'st mix, 
And mean thy fortunes be ; 

Bear this in mind, be deaf and blind, 
Let great folks hear and see. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 131 



LINES 

[ WRITTEN 0» A WINDOW AT THE KING*S ARMS 
TAVERN, DUMFRIES. 

Ye men of wit and wealth, why all this sneering 
'Gainst poor Excisemen ? sjive the cause a hearing : 
What are your landlords' rent-rolls ? taxing led- 
gers : 
What premiers, what ? even Monarch's mighty 

gaugers ? 
Nay, what are priests? those seeming godly wise- 
men : 
What are they, pray ? but spiritual Excisemen. 



A VERSE, 



PEESENTED BY THE AUTHOR, TO THE MASTER OP 
A HOUSE, AT A PLACE IN THE HIGHLANDS, 
WHERE HE HAD BLEN HOSPITABLY ENTER- 
TAINED. 

When Death's dark stream I ferry o er, 

A time that surely shall come : 
In Heaven itself, I'll ask no more, 

Than jast a Highland welcome. 



132 , POEMS, 



EPIGRAM. 

[Burns, accompanied by a friend, having gone to 
Inverary at a time when some company were 
there on a visit to the Duke of Argyll, finding 
himself and his companion entirely neglected 
by the Inn-keeper, whose whole attention seem- 
ed to be occupied with the visitors of his Grace, 
expressed his disapprobation of the incivility 
with which they were treated in the following 
lines.] 

Whoe'er he be that sojourns here, 

I pity much his case, 
Unless he comes to wait npon 

The Lord their God his Grace. 
There's naething here but Highland pride^ 

And Highland scab and hunger j 
If Providence has sent me here, 

'Twas surely in an anger. 



EPIGRAM 

on elphinstone's translation of martial's 
epigrams. 

O thou whom Poetry abhors, 
Whom Prose has turned out of doors, 
Heard'st thou that groan ? — proceed no further, 
''Twas laarell'd Martial roaring murder. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 133 

VERSES, 

WRITTEN ON A WINDOW OF THE INN AT CARRO 

We cam na here to view your warks 

In hopes to be mair wise, 
But only, lest we gang to hell, 

It may be nae surprise : 

But when we tirl'd at your door, * 
Your porter dought na hear us ; 

Sae may, should we to hell's yetts come,'', 
Your billy Satan sair us ! --h 



EPITAPH, 

ON A CELEBRATED RULING ELDER. ( 

Here souter * * * * in death does sleep ; 

To h-11, if he's gane thither, 
Satan, gie him thy gear to keep, 

He'll hand it weel thegither. 



ON A NOISY POLEMIC. 

Below thir stanes lie Jamie's banes :' 

O Death ! it's my opinion, 
Thou ne'er took such ableth'rin b^tch. 

Into thy dark dominion 1 



134 POEMS, 

ON WEE JOHNNY. 

Hie }aret tvee Johnnie. 

Whoe'er thon art, O reader, knew,> 
That Death has murder'd Johmy f 

An* here his body lies fa* low — 
For saul he ne'er bad ony. 



FOR G. K. ESQ. { 

The poor man weeps — here G n sleeps^ 

Whom canting wretches blam'd : 

But with sueh as he, where'er he be, 
May I be sav'd or damn'd J 



ON A WAG IN MAUCHLINE. 

Lament him Mauchline husbands a 1 , 

He aften did assist ye ; 
For had. ye staid whole weeks awa', 

Your wives they ne'er had miss'd ye* 

Ye Mauchline hairns, as on ye pass, 

To school in bands thegither, 
v O tread you lightly on his grass, 
Perhaps he was your father. . 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 135 



ON JOHN DOVE,] 

INN-KEEPER, MATJCHLINE. 

Here lies Johnny Pidgeon, 

What was his religion, 

Whoe'er desires to ken, 

To some other warl 

Maun follow the carl, 

For here Johnny Pidgeon had nane. 

Strong ale was ablution, 
Small beer persecution, 
A dram was memento mori ; : 
But a full flowing-bowl 
"Was the saving his sob), 
[ And port was celestial glory 



ON WALTER 3 ■ . 

Sic a reptile was Wat, 

Sic a miscreant slave. 
That the worms ev'n d d htm* 

When laid in his grave, 

ix In his flesh there's a famine," 

A starv'd reptile eri-es ; 
* An' his heart is rank poison,** 

Another replies 






136 POEMS, 



ON A HENPECKED COUNTRY SQUIRE, 

As father Adam first was fooPd, 
A case that's still too common, 

Here lies a man a woman rul'd, 
The Devil raiM the woman. ' 



^EPIGRAM ON SAID OCCASION.*)*, 

G Death, hadst thou but spar'd his life> 

Whom we this day lament ! 
We freely wad exchang'd the *rife f 

And a' been weel content. 

Ev'n as he is, cauld in his graff. 
The swap we yet will do't ; a 

Tak thou the Carlin's carcase aff, 
Thou'se get the aaul o y boot. - 



ANOTHER, 

One Queen Artemisa, as old stories tell, 
When deprived of her husband she loved so well/ 
In respect for the love and affection he'd shewn her, 
She reduc'd him to dust and she drank up the 

powder. 
But Queen N *******, of a different complexion,! 
When calFd on to order the fun'ral direction, 
Would have eat her dead lord, on a slender pretence, 
Not to shew her respect, but— to suce the expense** 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 137 



ON THE DEATH OF A LAP DOG 
NAMED ECHO. 

In wood and wild, ye warbling throng, 

Your heavy loss deplore ; 
Now half-extinct your powers of song, 

Sweet Echo is no more. 

Ye jarring, screeching things around, 
Scream your discordant joys • 

Now half your din of tuneless sound 
With Echo silent lies. 



IMPROMPTU ON MRS. S BIRTH-DAY. 

42/i November, 1793. 

Old Winter with his frosty beard, 
Thus once to Jove his prayer preferr'd : 
What have I done of all the year, 
To bear this hated doom severe ? 
My cheerless sous no pleasure know ; 
Night's horrid car drags dreary, slow . 
My dismal months no joys are crowning, 
But spleeny English, hanging, drowning. 

Now, Jove, for once, be mighty civil, 
To counterbalance all this evil ; 
Give me, and I've no more to say, * 
Give me Maria's natal day ! 



138 POEMS, 

That brilliant gift will so enrich me, 
Spring, summer, autumn, cannot match me.— • 
*Tis done ! says Jove ; — so ends my story, 
And Winter once rejoic'd in glory. 



MONODY 

ON A LADY FAMED FOR HER CAPRICE, ] 

How cold is that bosom which folly once fir'd ! 

How pale is that cheek where the rouge lately 
glisten'd ! 
How silent that tongue which the echoes oft tir'd ; 

How dull is that ear which to flattery so listen'd ! 

If sorrow and anguish their exit await, 

From friendship and dearest affection remov'd; 

How doubly severer, Eliza, thy fate, 
Thou diedst unwept as thou livedst unlov'd. 

Loves, Graces, and Virtues, I call not on you ; 

So shy, grave, and distant, ye shed not a tear : 
But come, all ye offspring of Folly so true, 

And flowers let us cull for Eliza's cold bier. 

We'll search thro* the garden for each silly flower, 
We'll roam thro' the forest for each idle weed ; 

But chiefly the nettle, so typical, shower, 
For none e'er approach'd her but rued the rash 
deed. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 139 

We'll sculpture the marble, we'll measure th€ lay; 
| Here Vanity strums on her idiot lyre ; 
There keen Indignation shall dart on her prey, 
Which spurning Contempt shall redeem from 
her ire. 



^THE EPITAPH. 

Here lies, now a prey to insulting neglect, 

What once was a butterfly) gay in life's bearo^ 

Want only of wisdom denied her respect, 
Want only of goodness denied her esteem. J 



ODE, 

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF MRS. 
OF . 

Dweller in yon dungeon dark, 
Hangman of creation ! mark 
Who in widow-weeds appears, 
Laden with unhononr'd years, 
Noosing with care a bursting purse, 
Baited with many a deadly curse! 

strophe. -9 

View the wither'd beldam's face- 
Can thy keen inspection trace 
Aught of humanity's sweet melting grace?; 
Note that eye, 'tis rheum o'erflows, 
Pity's flood there never rose. 



140 POEMS, 

See those hands, ne'er slretch'd to save, 

Hands that took — but never gave. 

Keeper of Mammon's iron chest, 

Lo! there she goes, unpitied and unblest! 

She goes but not to realms of everlasting rest ! \ 

ANT1STROPHE. 

Plunderer of armies, lift thine eyes, 
(Awhile forbear, ye tort'ring fiends,) 
Seest thou whose step unwilling hither bends? 
No fallen angel, hurl'd from upper skies ; 
Tis thy trusty quondam mate, 
Doonrd to share thy fiery fate, 
She, tardy, hell-ward plies. 

EPODE. 

And are they of no more avail, 
Ten thousand glut' ring pounds a-year ? 
In other worlds can mammon fail, 
Omnipotent as he is here r 
O, bitter mock'ry of the pompous bier, 
While down the wretched vital part is driv'n ! 
The cave-lodg'd beggar, with a conscience clear, ] 
Expires in rags, unknown, and goes to heav'n. 






THE HENPECKED HUSBAND. 

Curs'd be the man, the poorest wretch in life, 
The crouching vassal to the tyrant wife, 
Who has no will but by her high permission j 
Who has not sixpence but in her possession s 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 141 



Who must to her his dear friend's secret tell ; 
Who dreads a curtain lecture worse than hell. 
Were such the wife had fallen to my part, 
I'd break her spirit, or I'd break her heart : 
I'd charm her with the magic of a switch, 
f d kiss her maids, and kick the perverse b—*h. 



ELEGY 

ON THE YEAR 1788. 

For lords or kings I dinna mourn, 
E'en let them die— for that they're born ! 
But, oh ! prodigious to reflect, 
A Towmont, Sirs, is gane to wreck ! 
O Eighty-eight, in thy sma' space 
What dire events hae taken place ! 
Of what enjoyments thou hast reft us ! 
In what a pickle thou hast left us \ 

The Spanish empire's tint a head, 
An' my auld teethless Bawtie's dead ; 
The toolzie's teugh 'tween Pitt an* Fox, 
An' our gndewife's we birdy cocks 5 
The tane is game, a bluidy devil, 
But to the hen-birds unco civil ; 
The tither's dour, has nae sic breedin, 
But better stuff ne'er cla /'d a midden ! 

Ye ministers, come mount the pulpit! 
An* cry till ye be hearse an' rnpit ; 



J 



142 POEMS, 

For Eighty-eight he wish'dyou weel, 
An' gied you a' baith gear an' meal ; 
E'en monie a plack, an' monie a peck, 
Ye kean yoursels for little feck ! „ 

Ye bonie lasses dight your een, 
For some o' you hae tint a frien' : 
In Eighty-eight, ye ken, was ta'en 
What ye'll ne'er hae to gie again. 

Observe the very nowt an* sheep, 
How dowfFan' dowie now they cre«p : 
Nay, ev'n the yirth itsel does cry, 
For Embro' wells are grutten dry. 

O Eighty-nine, thou's but a bairn, 
An' no owreauld, I hope, to learn ! 
Thou beardless boy, I pray tak care, 
Thou now has got thy daddy's chair, 
Naehand-cuff'd, muzzl'd, haff-shackl'd rcgtnt % 
But, like himsel, a full, free agebt. 
Be sure ye follow out the plan 
Nae waur then he did, honest man,' 
As muckle better as you can. 
January 1, 1789, 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 143 



TAM SAMSON'S* ELEGY. 



An horwat man's the ncbi*rt work of God. 

POPE. 



'Has auld R**^ seen the Deil ? 

Or great M '******* t thrawn his heel ! " 

t>r R******** again grown weel, 

To preach an' read ? 
" Na, war than a' !" cries ilka chiel, 

Tarn Samson's dead I 

r £««*•«*««« | an ^ ma y g,. nnt an » grane, * 
An' sigh, an' sab, an' greet her lane, 
An' deed her bairns, man, wife an* wean, 

In mourning weed 5 
To death she's dearly paid the kane, 

Tam Samson's dead ! 



• When this worthy old Sportsman went out bat muirfowl season, he 
supposed it was to be, in Osian's phrase, " the last of his fields ;" ano 
expressed an ardent wish to die and be buried in the rxfiiirs. On tfcis 
bint the Author composed his Elegy and Epitaph. 

■f A certain preacher, a great favourite with the million. Vide the 
Ordination, ttanza II. 

t Another preacher, an equal favourite with the few, who * as 1 1 th> t 
•k&e aiiittg, For him, see also the Ordination, sjansa IX, 



144 POEMS* 

The brethren of the mystic level, 
May hing their head in woefu 1 bevel, 
While by their nose the tears will revel, 

Like onie bead ; 
Death's gien the lodge an' unco devil ; ' 

Tarn Samson's dead ! . 

When winter muffles up his cloak, ^ 
And binds the mire up like a rock ; 
When to the loughs the curlers flock, 

Wi' gleesome speed* 
Wha will they station at the cock ? 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

He - was the King o' a' the core. 
To guard, or draw, or wick a bore, 
Or up the rink like Jehu roar, 

In time of need ; 
But now he lags on death's hog-score y 

Tam Samson's dead! 

Now safe the stately sawmont sail, 
And trouts bedropp'd wi' crimson hail, 
And eels weel kenn'd forsouple tail, 

And geds for greed, 
Since dark in death's fish-creel we wail, 
Tam Samson's dead!* 

Rejoice, ye birring paitricks a* ; 
Ye cootie muircocks, crousely craw ; 
Ye maukins, cock your fudfu' braw, 
Withouten dread ; 
Your mortal faeis now ava', 

Tain Samson's dead ! " 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. MS 

♦ 

That woefV morn be ever mourn'd, 

Saw him in shootin graith adorn'd, 

While pointers round impatient burn'd, 

Frae couples freed ; 

But, och ! be gaed and ne'er return'd ! 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 

In vain anld age his body batters ; 

{n vain the gout his ancles fetters ; 
n vain the bums came down like waters, 

An acre braid ! 
Now ev'ry auld wife, greetin, clatters, 
Tarn Samson's dead ! 

Owremany a weary hag he limpit, 
jAn' av the tither shot he thumpit, 
Till coward death behind him jumpit, 

Wi' deadly feide; 
Now be proclaims, wi* tout o' trumpet, 

Tarn Samson's dead f . 

f When at his heart he felt the dagger, 
He reePd his wonted bottle-swagger, 
But yet he drew the mortal trigger 

Wi' weel-aim'd heed; 
* L— d, five !" he cry'd, an' owre did atagger ; 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 

Ilk hoary hunter mourn'd a brither ; 
Ilk sportsman youth bemoan'd a father ; 
Yon auld grey stane, amang the heather, 

Marks out his head. 
Whare Burns has wrote, in rhyming blether, 
Tarn Samson** dead i 
Vol. II, K 



146 POEMS, 

There low he lies, in lastiug rest ; 
Perhaps upon his mould'ring breast 
Some spitefu* muirfowl bigs her nest,' 

To hateh an' breed ; 
Alas ! nae mair he'll them molest ! 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 

When August winds the heather wave, 
And sportsmen wander by yon grave, 
Three volleys let his mem'ry crave 

O* pouther an* lead, 
Till Echo answer frae her cave, 

Tarn Samson's dead !, 

Heav'n rest his saul whare'er he be!. 
Is the wish o* monie mae than me ; 
He had twa faults, or maybe three, 

Yet what remead f{ 
Ae social honest man want we : 

Tarn Samson's dead t 



THIS EPITAPH. 



Tam* Samson's weel-worn clay here Bcs> 
Ye canting zealots spare him ! 

If honest worth in heaven rise, 
Ye'll mend or ye win near hinr, 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 147 

PER CONTRA. 

Go, Fame, and canter like a filly 
Thro' a' the streets an* neuks o' KUli**, 
Tell ev'ry social, honest billie 

To cease his grievin, 
For yet, unskaith'd by death's gleg millie* 

Tarn Sanson's Ih'irt. 



ELEGY 

ON CAPT. MATTHEW HENDERSON, 

A OEKTLEMAN WHO KELD THE PATENT FOR HIS 
HONOURS IMMEDIATELY FROM AI MIGHTY GOD. 

But now his radiant course Is rusL, 

For Matthew's course was bright | 
rtis soul was tike the glorious sua, 
A matchless, heavenly light! 

O Death ! thou tyrant fell and bloody ! 
The muckle Devil wi* a woodie 
Haurl ttoee hame to his black smiddie, 

O'er hurcheon hides, 
And tike stock-fish come o'er his studdie 

Wi' try auld sides ! 



KMrmamoclu 
K2 



148 poems, 

He's gane, he's gane ! lie's frae us torn, 
The ae best fellow e'er was born ! 
Ihee, Matthew, Nature's sel shall mourn 

By wood and wild, 
Where, haply, pity stays forlorn, 

Frae man exil'd. ~ 

Ye hills, nearneebors o' the starns, 1 ' 
That proudly cock your cresting cairns! 
Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing yearns, 

Where Echo slumbers! 
Come join, ye Nature's sturdiest bairns, 
My w ailing numbers! 

Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens ! 
Ye haz'lly shaws and briery dens! 
Ye burnies, wimplin down your glens, 

Wi' todlin din, 
Or foaming Strang, wi' hasty stens, 
Frae lin to lin. 

Mourn little harebells o'er the le«- 
Ye stately foxgloves fair to see; 
Ye woodbines hanging bonilie, 

In scented bow'rs : 
Ye roses on your thorny tree, 

The first o' flow'rs. 

At dawn, when ev'ry grassy blade 
Droops with a diamond at his head, 
At ev'n, when beans their fragrance shed, 

I" the rustling gale, 
Yc maukins whiddin thro' the glade, 

Come, join my wail. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH.' 149 

Mourn, ye wee songsters o' the wood • 
Ye grouse that crap the heathy- Vutl ; 
Ye curlews calling &rz' s c. od : 

Ye wi.isiling plover; 
^nd oiOuitLj ,je chirring p ait nek brood; 

He's gane for ever ! 

Mourn, sooty coots, and speckled teals, 
Ye fisher herons, watching eels ; 
Ye duck and drake, wi' airy wheels 

Circling the lake ; 
Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels, 

Kair for his sake ! 

Mourn, clam'ring craiks at close o' day, 
•Mang fields o* fiow'ring clover gay ; 
And when ye wing your annual way 

Frae our cauld shore, 
Tell thae far warlds, wha lies in clay, 

Wham we deplore. 

Ye houlets, frae your ivy bow'r, 
In some auld tree, or eldritch tow'r, 
What time the moon, wi' silent glow'r, 

»Sets up her horn, 
Wail thro' the dreary midnight hour 
Till waukrife morn ' 

O rivers, forests, hills, and plains! 

Oft have ye heard my canty strains ; 

But now, what el^e for me remains 

But tales of woe ; 

And frae my een the drapping rainj 

Maun ever flow. 



150 POEMS, 

Mourn, spring, thon darling of tlie year ! 
Ilk cowslip cup shall kep a tear : 
Thou, simmer, while each corny spear 

Shoots up its head, 
Thy gay, greeny flow'ry tresses shear, 

For him that's deadh 

Thou, autumn, wi" thy yellow hair, 
In grief thy sallow mantle tear! 
Thou, winter, hurling thro* the air 

The roaring blast, 
Wide o'er the naked world declare 

The worth we've lost: 

M-ourn him, thou sun, great source of light 
Mourn, empress of the silent night! 
And yon, ye twinkling starnies bright, 

My Matthew mourn ! 
For through your orbs he's taen his flight, 
Ne'er to return. 

O Henderson ! the man ! the brother ! 
And art thou gone, and gone for ever? 
And hast thou crossVl that unknown river, 

Life's dreary bound? 
Like thee, where shall T find another, 

The world around! 

Go to your sculptnr'd tombs, ye Great, 
In a* the tinsel trash o' state ! 
Bat by thy honest turf I'll wait, 7 

Thou man of worth ! 
And weep the aebest fellow's fate 

E'er lay in earth. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 151 



THE EPITAPH. 

Stop, passenger ! my story's brief, 
And truth I shall relate, man ; 

I tell nae common tale o' grief, 
For Matthew was a great man. 

If thou uncommon merit hast, 

Yet spurn'd at Fortune's door, man ; 

A look of pity hither cast, 
for Matthew was a poor man. 

If thou a nobler sodger art, 

That passest by tins grave, man, 

There moulders here a gallant heart, 
For Matthew was a brave man. 

If thou on men, their works and ways, 
Canst throw uiicommou light, man ; 

Here lies wha wheel had won thy praise, 
For Matthew was a bright man 

If thou at friendship's sacred ca' 
Wad life itself resign, man ; 
[ Thy sympathetic tear maun fa' 
For Matthew was a kind man. 

If thou art staunch without a stain. 
Like the unchanging blue, man*. 

This was a kinsman o* thy ain, 
For Matthew was a true man/ 



152 POEMS, 

If thon hast wit, and fun, and fire 
And ne'er guid wine did fear, man| 

Tin* was thy billie, dam and sire, 
For Matthew was a queer man. 

If onie whiggish, whingin sot, 

To blame poor Mattliew dare, man 

May dooi and sorrow be his lot, 
For Matthew was a rare maa 



ON A SCOTCH BAUD, 



GONE TO THE WEST IXOIES. 

A* \E wha live by soups o' drink, 
A* ye wha live by crambo-c'iuk, 
A* ye wha live and never think, 

Come, mourn mi* me 
Our billies gien us a' the jink, 

An' owre the sea. 

Lament him a* ye rantin core, 
vVha dearly iike a random-splore, 
Nae mair he'll join the merry roar ; 

In .voeial key 
Foi now he's taen anither shore, 

An' owre the gea. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH 53 

' The bonie lasses weel may wiss him, 
And in their dear petitions place him : 
The widows, wives, an a' may bless him f 

Wi' tearfu' e'e ; 
For weel I wat they'll sairly miss him, 

That's owre the sea. 

O Fortune ! they hae room to grumble ; 
Hadst thou taenofY some drowsy bummle, 
Wha can do nought but fyke and fumble 

'Twad been nae plea ; 
But he was gleg as onie wumble, 

That's owre the sea. 

Auld, cantie Kyle may weepers wear, 
An' stain them wi' the saut, saut tear, 
Twill mak her poor auld heart, I fear, 

In flinders flee : 
He was her laureate mome a year, 

That's owre the sea. 

He saw misfortune's cauld nor-west 
Laiig mustering up a bitter blast ; 
A jillet brak his heart at last. 

Ill may she be ! 
So, took a birth afore the mast, 

An* owre the sea. 

To tremble under Fortune's cummock, 
On scarce a bellyfu* o' drtimmock, 
Wi' his proud independent stomach, 

Could ill agree ; 
So } row't his hurdies in a hammock 

An' owre the sea. 



154 POEMS, 

Ke ne'er was glen to great misguiding, 
Yet coin his pouches wad na bide in ; 
Wi' him it ne'er was under hiding ; 

He dealt it f;ee 
The Mnse was a' that he took pride in, 

That's owre the sea. 

Jamaica bodies, use him weel, 
An' hap him in a cozie biel : 
Ye'll find him ay a dainty chiel, 

And fou o' glee; 
He wad na wrang'd the vera Dei!, 

That's owre the sea. 

Kareweei, my rhyme- composing billie! 
Your native soil was right ill-wiilie ; 
But may ye flourish like a lily, 

Now bonilie ! 
I'll toast ye in my hindmost gillie, 

Tho' owre the sea. 



ON PASTORAL POETRY. 



Hail, Poesie! thou Nymph reserv'd ! 
In chase o' thee what crowds hae swerv*d 
Frae common sense, or sunk enerv'd 

'Mang heaps o* clavers j 
And och ! o'er aft thy joes hae starv'd, 

'Mid a' thv favours ! 






CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 155 

f Say, Lassie, why thy train amang, 
While loud, the trump's heroic clang, 
And sock or buskin skelp alan?. 

To death or marriage ; 
Scarce ane has tried the shepherd-sang 

But wi' miscarriage ? 

In Homer's craft Jock Milton thrives 5 
Esehylus' pen Will Shakspeare drives ; 
Wee Pope, the knurlin, till him rives 

Horatian fame ; 
In thy sweet sang, Barbauld, survives 

Ev'n Sappho's flame. 

But thee, Theocritus! wha matches? 
They're no herd's ballats. Maro's catches; 
Squire Pope but busks his skinklin patches 

O' heathen tatters • 
I pass by hunders, nameless wretches, 

That ape their betters. 

Tn this braw age o' wit and lear, 
Will name the Shepherd's whistle mair 
Blaw sweetly in its native air 

And rural grace ; 
And wi' the far-fam'd Grecian, share 

A rival place f 

Yes ! there is ane ; a Scottish callan • 
There's ane; come forrit, honest Allan* 
Thou need na jouk behint the hallan, 

A chit I sae clever ; 
The teeth 0' time may jrnawTamtailan, 

But thou's for ever. 



156 POEMS, 

Thou paints auld Nature to the nines, 
In thy sweet Caledonian lines : 
Nae gowden stream thro' myrtles twinei 

Where Philomel, 
While nightly breezes sweep the vines ; 

Her griefs will tell !, 

In gowany glens thy burnie strays, 
Where bonie lasses bleach their ciaes : 
Or trots by hazelly shaws and braes, 

Wf hawthorns gray, 
Where blackbirds join the shepherd's lay* 
At close o' day 

Thy rural loves are nature's sel 
Nae bombast spates o' nonsense swe* , 
Nae snap conceits, but that sweet spel' 

O' witchin love, 
That charm that can the strongest quell, 

The sternest move. 



PROLOGUE, 

SPOKEN AT THE THEATRE, ELLISLAND 
ON NEW-YEAR^DAY EVENING. 

No sons nor dance I bring from yon jrreat city 
T;iat queens it o'er our taste — the more's the pity , 
Tho', by the by, abroad why will you ream ? 
Good sense and taste are natives here at home ; 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH, 157 

But not for panegyric I appear, 
I come to wish you all a good new-year! 
Old Father Time deputes me here before ye, 
Not for to preach, but teil his simple story : 
The sage, grave Ancient cough'd, and bade me say^ 
. " You're one year older this important day," 
If wiser too — he hinted some suggestion, 
But 'twould be rude, you know, to ask the question ; 
And with a would-be-roguish leer and wink, 
He bade me on you press this one word — " think/** 

Ye sprightly youths, quite flush with hope and 
spirit, 
Who think to storm the world by dint of merit, 
To you the Dotard has a deal to say, 
In his sly, dry, sententious, proverb way ! 
He bids you mind, amid your thoughtless rattle, % 
That the first blow is ever half the battle ; 
That tho' some by the skirt may try to snatch him j 
Yet by the forelock is the hold to catch him ; 
That whether doing, suffering, or forbearing, 
You may do miracles by persevering. 

Last, tho' not least in love, ye youthful fair, 
Angelic forms, high Heaven's peculiar care ! 
To you old Bald-pate smooths his wrinkled brow, 
And humbly begs you'll mind the important — now ! 
To crown your happiness he asks your leave, 
And offers, bliss to give and to receive. 

For our sincere, tho' haply weak endeavours, 
With grateful pride we own your many favours ; 
And howsoe'er our tongues may ill reveal it, 
Believe our glowing bosoms truly feel it 



J58 POEMS, 

PROLOGUE, 

SPOKEN 

BY MS* WCODS, ON BIS BENEFIT-- NIGHT, 

Monday, Wh April, 1787. 

When by a generous public's kind acclaim, 
That dearest meed is granted— honest fame ; 
When here your favour is the actor's lot, 
Nor even the man in private life forgot ; 
What breast so dead to heav'nly Virtue's glow,' 
But heaves impassion'd with the grateful throe ? 

Poor is the task to please a barb'rous throng, 
It needs no Siddons' power in Southern's song : 
But here an ancient nation, fam'd afar 
For genius, learning high, as great in war— 
Hai!, Caledonia! name for ever dear! 
Before whose sons I'm hononr'd to appear ! 
Where every science — every nobler art — 
That can inform the mind, or mend the heart, J 
Is known ; as grateful nations .oft have found, 
Far as the rude barbarian marks the bound. 
Philosophy, no idle pedant dream, 
Here holds her search by heaven-taught Reason's 

beam ; 
H^re History paints with elegance and force,' 
The tide of Empire's fluctuating course j 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. J 59 

Here Douglas forms wild Shakspeare into plan, 
And Harley* rouses all tiietjod in man. 
When well-form'd taste, and sparkling wit unite, 
With manly lore, or female beauty bright, 
(Beauty, where faultless symmetry and grace, 
Can only charm us in the second piace,) 
Witness my heart, how oft with panting fear, 
As on this night, I've met these judges here ! 
But still the hope Experience taujiht to live, 
Equal to judge — you're candid to forgive. 
No hundred-headed Riot here we meet, 
With decency and law beneath his feet ; 
Nor Insolence assumes fair Freedom's name ; 
Like Caledonians, you applaud or blame. 

O Thou ! dread Power ! whose empire-giving 
hand 
Has oft been stretchM to shield the hononr'd land 
Strong may she glow vith all her ancient fire; 
May every son be worthy of his sire ; 
Firm may she rise with generous disdain 
At Tyranny's, or direr Pleasure's chain ; 
Still self-dependent in her native shore, 
Bold may she brave tirim Danger's loudest roar, 
Till fate the curtain drop on worlds to be no more. 



* Tfe* Uaa of Reeling, written by Mr. ,U'Kco*ic. 



160 POEMS, 



THE RIGHTS OF \tf0MAN, 

AN OCCASIONAL ADDRESS SPOKEN BY MISS F0N TEXKLLE 
OX HER BENEFIT NIGHT, 

"While Europe's eye is fix'd on mighty things, 
The fate of empires and the fall of kings : 
While quacks of state mast each produce his plan, 
And even children lisp the Rights of Man ; 
Amid this mighty fuss, just let me mention, 
The Rights of Wov*an merit some attention. 

First in the sexes' intermix'd connexion, 
One sacred right of Woman is protection.— 
The tender flower that lifts its head, elate, 
Helpless, must fall before the blasts of fate, 
Sunk on the earth, defac'd its lovely form, 
Unless your shelter ward th* impending storm.- 

Our second Right— but needless here is cantion, 
To keep that right inviolate's the fashion. 
Each man of sense has it so full before hin», 
He'd die before he'd wrong it, — 'tis decorum*— 
There was, indeed, in far less polish'd days, 
A time when rough, rude man had naughty ways j 
Would swagger, swear, get drunk, kick up a riot, 
Nay, even thus invade a lady's quiet. — 
Now, thank our stars! these Gothic times are fled , 
Tsow well-bred men— and yen are all well-bred— 



i, 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 161 



ost justiy think (and we are much tht gainers) 
Such conduct neither spirit, wit, nor manners. 

For Right the third, our last, our best, our dearest, 
That right to fluttering female hearts the nearest, 
Which even the Right of Kings in low prostration, 
Most humbly own— 'tis dear, dear admiration ! 
In that blest sphere alone we live and move ; 
There taste that life of life— immortal love. — 
Smiles, glances, sighs, tears, fits, flirtations, airs, 
'Gainst such an host what flinty savage dares— 
When awful Beauty joins with all her charms 
Who is so rash as rise in rebel arms ? 

\ But truce with kings, and truce with constitu* 

tions, 
With bloody armaments and revolutions ; 
Let Majesty your first attention summon, 
Ah! ga ira! the Majesty of Woman ! 



ADDRESS, 



SPOKEN BY MISS FONTENELLK, 

ON HER BENEFIT-NIGHT, DECEMBER 4, 1795, AT THE 
THEATRE, DUMFRIES, 

Still anxious to secure your partial favour, 
And not less anxious sure this night than ever, 
A Prologue, Epilogue, or some such matter, 
'Twould vamp my bill, said I, if nothing better » 
So, sought a Poet, roosted near the skies, 
Told him I came to feast mv curious eyes, 
Vol* II. L 



162 POEMS, 

Said, nothing like his works was ever printed ; 
And last, my Prologue business slily hinted. 
" Ma'ain, let me tell you," quoth my man 

rhymes, 
M I know your bent— these are no laughing time 
Can you — but Miss, I own I have my fears, 
Dissolve in pause — and sentimental tears— 
With laden sighs, and solemn-rounded sentence, 
Rouse from his sluggish slumbers, fell Repen- 
tance ; 
Paint Vengeance as he takes his horrid stand, 
Waving on high the desolating brand, 
Calling the storms to bear him o'er a guilty land ?** 

I could no more— askance the creature eyeing, 
Dy'e think, said I, this face was made for crying? 
I'll laugh, that's poz — nay more, the world shall 

know it; 
And so, your servant, gloomy Master Poet ! 

Firm as my creed, Sirs, 'tis my fixed belief, 
That Misery's another word for Grief: 
I also think— so may I be a bride ! 
That so much laughter, so much life enjoy'4. 

Thou man of crazy care and ceaseless sigh, 
Still under bleak Misfortune's blasting eye ; 
Doom'd to that sorest task of man alive — 
To make three guineas do the work of five : 
Laugh in Misfortune's face — the beldam witch 
Say, you'll be merry, tho' you can't be rich. 

Thou other man of care, the wretch in love, 
Who long with jiltish arts and airs hast strove : 
Who, as the boughs all temptingly project, 
Measur'st in desperate thought — a rope— thy 
neck — 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 163 

Or, where the beetling cliff o'erhangs the deep, 
Peerest to meditate the healing leap : 
Would'st thou be cur'd, thou silly, moping elf; 
Laugh at her follies — laugh e'en at thyself: 
Learn to despise those frowns now so teriinc, 
And iove a kinder — that's your grand specific. 

To sum up all, be merry, I advise ; 
And as we're merry, may we still be wise. 



FRAGMENT, 

■ INSCRIBED TO THE RIGHT HON. C. J. FOX. 

How wisdom and folly meet, mix, and unite ; 
How virtue and vice blend their black and their 

white ; 
How genius, th' illustrious father of fiction, 
Confounds rule and law, reconciles contradiction— 
I sing : If these mortals, the critics, should bustle, 
I care not, not I, let the critics go whistle. 

I Bat now for a Patron, whose name and whose 

glory 
At once may illustrate and honour my story. 

Thou first of our orators, first of our wits ; 
Yet whose parts and acquirements seem mere 

lucky hits ; 
With knowledge so vast, and with judgment so 

strong, 
No man with the half of 'em e'er went far wrong ; 
With passions so potent, and fancies so bright, 
No man with the half of em e'er went quite right; 
L2 



164 POEMS, 

A sorry, poor misbegot son of the Muses, 
For using thy name offers fifty excuses. 

Good L— d, what is man \ for as simple he looks, 
Do hut try to develope his hooks aud his crooks ; 
With his depths and his shallows, his good and 

his evil, 
Ail in all he's a problem must puzzle the devil. 

On his one ruling passion sir Pope hugely 
labours. 

That like tb' old Hebrew walking-switch, eats 

up its neighbours : 
Mankind are his show-box — a friend, would you 

know him ? 
Pull the string — ruling passion the picture wilA 
show him. 

What pity, in rearing so beauteous a system, 
One trifling particular, truth should have miss'd him. 
For, spite of his fine theoretic positions, 
Mankind is a science defies definitions. 

Some sort all our qualities each to its tribe, 
And think human nature they truly describe ; 
Have you found this, or t'other ? there's more in 

the wind, 
As by one drunken fellow his comrades you'll find. 
But such is the. flaw, or the depth of the plan, 
In the make of that wonderful creaure,caU'd Man, 
No two virtues, whatever relation they claim, 
Nor even two different shades of the same, 
Though like as was ev< r twin brother to brother, 
essiug the one shall imyly you've the other. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 165 

INSCRIPTION 

FOR AN ALTAR TO INDEPENDENCE, 



AT KERROUGHTRY, THE SE\T OF MR. HERON, 
WRITTEN IN SUMMER, 1795. 

Thou of an independent mind, 
With sonl resolv'd, with soul resign'd ! 
Prepared Power's proudest fro wit to brave 
Who wilt not be nor have £ slave ; 
Virtue alone who dost revere, 
lliy own reproach alone dost fear, 
Approach this shrine, and worship here. 



ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH. 

Edina ! Scotia's darling seat ! 

All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, 
Where once beneath a monarch's fee* 

Sat legislation's sov'reign pow'rsJ 
From marking wildly-scatter'd flow'rs, 

As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd, 
And singing, lone, the lingering hours, 

1 shelter in thy honoui'd shade. 



166 POEMS, 

Here wealth still swells the golden tide f 

As busy trade his labours plies ; 
There architecture's noble pride 

Bids elegance and splendour rise; 
Here justice from her native skies, 

High wields her balance and her rod ; 
There Learning, with his eagle eyes, 

Seeks science in her coy abode. 

Thy sons, Edina, social, kind, 

With open arms the stranger hail ; 
Their views enlarg'd, their lib'ral mind, 

Above the narrow, rural vale; 
Attentive still to sorrow's wail, 

Or modest merit's sileHt claim ; 
And never may their sources fail ; 

And never envy blot their name I 

Thy daughters bright thy walks adorn! 

Gay as the gilded summer sky, 
Sweet as the dewy milk-white thorn, 

Dear as the rapturM thrill df joy ! 
Fair B strikes th' adoring eye, 

HeavVs beauties on my fancy shine, 
I see the sire of love on high. 

And own his work indeed divtae 

There, watching high the least alarms, 

Th,y rough rude fortress gleams afar ; 
Like some bold vet* ran, grey in arms, 

And mark'd with many a seamy scar 
The pond'rous wall and massy bar, 

Grim-rising o'er the rugged rock j 
Have oft withstood assailing war, 

And oft repell'd the invader's shock. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 167 

With awe-struck thought, and pitying tears, 

I view that noble, stately dome, 
Where Scotia's kings of other years, 

Fam'd heroes, had their royal home : 
Alas ! how chang'd the times to come ; 

Their royal name low in the dust ! 
Their hapless race wild-wand'ring roam 

Tho' rigid law cries out 'twas just ! 

Wild beats my heart to trace yonr steps > 

Whose ancestors, in dajf of yore, 
Thro' hostile ranks and ruin'd gaps, 

Old Scotia's bloody lion bore : 
Ev'n 1 who sing in rustic lore, 

Haply rny sires have left their shed 
Andfac'd grim danger's loudest roar, 

Bold-following where your father's led ! 

Edina! Scotia's darling seat! 

All hail thy palaces and towVs, 
Where once beneath a monarch's feet 

Sat legislation's sov'reign pow'rs ! 
From marking wildly-scatter'd flow'rs, 

As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd, 
And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours, 

I shelter in thy honour'd shade. 



163 POEM?. 



BOOK V. 

SONGS AND BALLADS. 
A VISION. 

As I stood by yon roofless tower, 

Where the wa'-flower scenU the dewy air 

Where the howlet mourns in her ivy bower, 
And tells the midnight moon her care . 

The winds were laid, the air was still, 

The stars they shot alang the sky: 
The fox was howling on the hifi, 
>_ And the distant-echoing glens reply. 

The stream, adown its hazelly path, 
Was rushing by the ruin'd wa's, 

Hasting to join the sweeping Nitb, 
Whase distant roaring swells and fa's. 

'/The cauld blue north was streaming forth 

Her lights, wi' hissing eerie din ; 
Athort the lift they start and shift, 
Like Fortune's favours, tint as win. 






CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 169 

By heedless chance I turn'd my eyes, 
And, by the moon-beam, shook, to se#> 

A stern and stalwart ghaist arise, 
Attir'd as minstrels wont to be. 

Had I a statue been o' stane, 

His darin looks had daunted me ; I 

And on his bonnet grav'd was plain, 

The sacred posy — Libertie ! 

And frae his harp sic strains did flow, 

Might rous'd the slumbering dead to hear ; 

But oh, it was a tale of woe, 
As ever met a Briton's ear I 

He sang wi' joy his former day, « 

He, weeping, wail'd his latter times ; 

But what he said it was nae play, 
I winna ventur't in my rhymes*. 



• The scenery so finely described in this poem U taken frtm nature \ 
The poet is supposed to be musing, by night, on the banks of the 
Cluden, near the -ruins of Lincluden-abbey, of which some account is 
given in Pennant's Tour and Grose'* Antiquities. It is to be regretted 
that he suppressed the song of LIBERTIE. From the resources of 
his genius, and the grandeur and solemnity of the preparation, some- 
thing might have been anticipated, equal, if not superior, to the Ad. 
dress of Bruce to his Army, to the Song of Death, or to the f err 14 
and noble description of the dying soldier in the field of battle* 



170 POEMS, 

BANNOCK-BURN. 

ROBERT BRUCE's ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY, 



Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 
Scots wham Bruce has aften led ; 
Welcome to your gory bed, 
Or to glorious victorie. 

Now's the day, and now's the hour ; * 
See the front of battle lower ; 
See approach proud Edward's power* 
Edward ! chains ! and slaverie ! 

Wha will be a traitor knave? 
Wha can fill a coward's grave ? 
Whae sae base as be a slave ? 

Traitor 1 coward ! turn and flee f 

Wha for Scotland's king and law 
Freedom's sword will strongly draw 
Free-man stand, or free-man fa', 
Caledonian ! on wi' me ! 

By oppression's woes and pains ! 
By your sons in servile chains I 
We will drain our dearest veins, 

But they shall be — shall be free ! 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH, 171 

Lay the proud usurpers low ! 
Tyrants fall in every foe ! 
Liberty's in every blow I 

Forward ! let us do or die ! 



SONG OF DEATH. 



tCENE—A Field of Bettte. Time of the day— Ivenlng. The wounded 
end dying of the victorious army are •opposed to join in the follow- 
ing Song. 



Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and 
ye skies, 
Now gay with the bright setting sun ; 
Farewell, loves and friendships, ye dear, tender 
ties, 
Our race of existence is run ! 

Thou grim king of terrors, thou life's gloomy foe, 
Go, frighten the coward and slave: 

Go, teach them to tremble, fell tyrant ! but know, 
No terrors hast thou to the brave 1 

Thoustrik'stthe dull peasant — he sinks in the dark 
Nor saves e'en the wreck of a name : 

Thou strik'st the young hero — a glorious mark I 
He falls in the blaze of his fame I 



172 POEMS, 

Iu the field of proud honour— our swords in our 

hands, 
Our King and our Country to save — 
While victory shines on life's last ebbing sands, 
O ! who would not rest with the brave ? 



IMITATION 

OF AN OLD JACOBITE SONG, 

By yon castle wa' at the close of the day, 
I heard a man sing, though his head it was grey ; 
And as he was singing, the tears fast down came— 
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes name. 

The church is in ruins, the state is in jars, 
Delusions, oppressions, and murderous wars : 
We dare na' weel say't, but we ken whae's to 

blame — 
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 

My seven braw sons for Jamie drew sword, 
And now I greet round their green beds in the yerd: 
It brak the sweet heart o' my faithfu' auld dame— 
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 

Now life is a burden that bows me down, 
Sin' I tint my bairns, and he tint his crown ; 
But till my last moment my words are the same— * 
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 173 



LASS OF INVERNESS. 



The lovely lass o' Inverness, 

Nae joy nor pleasure can she seej 

For e'en and morn she cries, alas ! 
And ay the saut tear blin's her e'e 

Drnmossie moor, Drumossie day, 

A waefV day it was to me ; 
For there I lost my father dear, 

My father dear, and brethren three. 

Their winding-sheet the blnidy clay, 
Their graves are growing green to see } 

And by them lies the dearest lad 
That ever blest a woman's e'e ! 

Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord, 
A bluidy man I trow thou be : 

For monie a heart thou hast made sair, 
That ne'er did wrong to thine or the* 



174 POEMS, 

THE ABSENT WARRIOR. 

Tune—" Logan Water." 

O Logan, sweetly didst thou ghde, 
That day I was my Willie's bride, 
And years sinsyne have o'er us run, 
Like Logan to the simmer .sun. 
But now thy flow'ry banks appear, 
Like drumlie winter, dark and drear, 
While my dear lad maun face his faes, 
Far, far frae me and Logan braes. 

Again the merry month o' May, 
Has made our hills and valleys gay : 
The birds rejoice in leafy bowers, 
The bees hum round the breathing flowers: 
Blithe, morning lifts his rosy eye, 
And evening's tears are tears of joy: 
My soul, delightless, a* surveys, 
While Willie's far frae Logan braes. 

Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush, 
Amang her nestlings sits the thrush; 
Her faithfti' mate will share her toil, 
Or wi* his song her cares beguile : 
But I, wi' my sweet nurslings here, 
Nae mate to help, nae mate to cheer, 
Pass widow'd nights and joyless days, 
While Willie's far frae Logan braes. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 175 

O wae upon you, men o' state, 
That brethren rouse to deadly hate I 
As ye make mouie a fond heart mourn* 
Sae may it on your heads return ! 
How can your flinty hearts enjoy 
The widow's tears, the orphan's cry ? 
But soon may peace bring happy days. 
And Willie name to Logan braes ! 



THE WARRIOR'S RETURN. 
Air—" The Mill Mill O." 

When wild war's deadly blast was blawo, 

And gentle peace returning, 
Wi' monie a sweet babe fatherless, 

And monie a widow mourning : 

I left the lines and tented field, 
Where lang I'd been a lodger, 

My humble knapsack a' my wealth, 
A poor and honest sodger. 

A leal, light heart was in my breast, 
My hand unstain'd wi' plunder j 

And for fair Scotia name again, 
I cheery on did wander 



POEMS, 

I thought upon the banks o' Coil, 
I thought upon my Nancy, 

I thought upon the witching smile 
That caught my youthful fancy. 

At length I reached the bonie glen, 
AVhere early life I sported ; 

I passed the mill and trystin thorn, 
Where Nancy aft I courted : 

Wha spied I but my ane dear maid, 
Down by her mother's dwelling ! 

And turn'd me round to hide the fiood 
That in my een was swelling. 

Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I, sweet lass 
Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom, 

O ! happy, happy may he be, 
That's dearest to thy bosom ! 

My purse is light, I've far to gang, 
And fain wad be thy lodger ! 

I've serv'd my kiny: and country lang, 
Take pity on a sodger. 

Sae wistfully she gaz'd on me, 
And lovelier was than ever : 

Quo* she, a sodger ance I lo'ed, 
Forget him shall I never : 

Our humble cot, and hamely fare, 

Ye freely shall partake it ; 
That gallant badsie, the dear cockade, 

Ye're welcome for the sak*> o't. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 177 

She gaz'd— « she redden'd like a rose—* 

Syne pale like onie lily ; 
She sank wit&in my arms aud cried, 

Art thou my ain dear Willie?. 

By him who made yon sun and sky— 
By whom true love's regarded—* 

I am the man ; and thus may still 
True lovers be rewarded. 

The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame* 
And find thee still true-hearted ; 

Tbo' poor in gear, we're rich in love, 
And mair we'se ne'er be parted. 

Quo' she, my grandsire left me gowd 

A mailen plenish'd fairly ; 
And come, my faithful sodger lad, 

Thou'rt welcome to it dearly ! 

For gold the merchant ploughs the main, 
The farmer ploughs the manor ; 

But glory is the sodger's prize ; 
The sodger's wealth is honour : 

The brave poor sodger ne'er despise 

Nor count him as a stranger, 
Remember he's his country 's.stat 

In day and hour of danger 



r' 



178 POEMS, 



LORD GREGORY. 

O mirk, mirk is this midnight honr,^ 

And load the tempests roar ; 
A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tow'r f 

Lord Gregory ope thy door 

An exile frae her father's ha', 

And a' for loving thee ; 
At least some pity on me 8-haw, 

If love it may nae be. 

Lord Gregory, mmd'st thou not the grove, 

By bonie Irwine side, 
Where first 1 own'd that virgin-love 

I Jang, lang had denied. 

How aften didstrthou pledge and vow, 

Thou wad for ay be mine ! 
And my fond heart, itsel sae true 1 

It ne'er mistrusted thine. 

Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory, 

And flinty is thy breast : 
Thou dart of heaven that flashes t by, 

O wilt thou give me rest ? 

Ye mustering thunders from above, 

Your willing victim see ! 
But spare, and pardon my fause love 

His wrangs to Heaven and me !j ' 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 179 



OPEN THE DOOR TO ME, OH ! 



WITH ALTERATIONS. 

Oh, open the door, some pity to show, 

Oh, open the door to me, Oh! 
Tho' thou hadst been false, I'll ever prove true, 

Oh, open the door to me, Oh I 

Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek, 

But caulder thy love for me, Oh ! 
The frost that freezes the life at my heart, 

Is nought to my pains frae thee, Oh ! 

The wan moon is setting behind the white wave, 

And time is setting with me, Oh ! 
False friends, false love, farewell ! for mair 

I'll ne'er trouble them nor thee, Oh ! 

She has open'd the door, she has open'd it wide j . 

She sees his pale corse on the plain, Oh ! 
My true love, she cried, and sank down by hi* side, 

Never to rise again, Oh I 



180 POEMS, 



THE INTREATY. 

Tune—- u Let me in this ae night." 

O Lassie, art thou sleeping yet ? 
Or art thou wakin, I would wit ? 
Yor Love has bound me hand and foot, 
And I would fain be in, jo. 

CHORUS, 

O let me in this ae night, 

This ae, ae, ae night, 
For pity's sake, this ae night t 

O rise and let me in, jo. 

Thou hea^st the winter wind and weet 
Nae star blinks thro' the driving sleet ; 
Yak pity on my weary feet, 

And shield me frae the rain, jo. 
O let, &c. 

The bitter blast that round me blawi, 
Unheeded howls, unheeded fa's ; 
The eauldness o' thy heart's the cause 
Of a' my grief and pain, jo. 
O let, &c. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 181 



THE ANSWER. 



O tell na me o* wind and rain, 
Upbraid na' me wi' cauid disdain! 
Gae back the gate ye cam again, 
Iwinua let you in, jo. 

CHORUS. 

/ tell you now this ae night, 

This ae, ae, ae night t 
And ancefor a' this ae night, 

I winna let you in, jo. 

The snellest blast, at mirkest hours, 
That round the pathless wand'rer pours, 
Is nocht to what poor she endures, 
That's trusted faithless man, jo. 
J tell, &c 

The sweetest flower that deck'd the mead, 
Now trodden like the vilest weed ; 
Let simple maid the lesson read, 
Toe weird may be her ain, jo. 
I tell, &c. 

The bird that charm'd his summer-day, 
Is now the cruel fowler's prey ; 
Let witless, trusting woman say, 
How aft her fate's the same, jo 
tell, &c. 



182 poems, 

THE 

FORLORN LOVER 

Tune—" Let me in tbis ae night.* 

Forlorn, my love, no comfort near, 
Far, far from thee, I wander here 5 
Far, far from thee, the fate severs 
At which I most repine, love, 

CHORUS. 

O t»ert thou, iove, but nem me, 
But near, near, near me ; 
How kindly thou wouldst cheer me, 
And mingle sighs usith mine, love. 

Around me scowls a wint'ry sky, 
That blasts each bud of hope and joy j 
And shelter, shade, nor home have I, 
Save in those arms of thine, love. 
O wert, &c. 

Cold, alterM friendship's cruel part, 
To poison Fortune's ruthless dart- 
Let me not break thy faithful heart, 
And say that fate is mine, love. 
O toert, &c. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH, 1 83 

But dreary tho' the moments fieeti 
O let me think we yet shall meet ' 
That only ray of solace sweet 

Can on thy Chloris shine, love 
O wert } &c* 



THE DREARY NIGHT. 
Tune—" Cauld KaH in Aberdeen 

How long and dreary is the night, 
When I am frae my. dearie ! 

I restless lie frae e'en to morn, 
Though I were ne'er so weary, 

CHORUS. 

For oh, her lanely nights are long; 

And oh, her dreams are eerie ; 
And oh, her widow 'd heart is sair, 

That's absent frae her dearie. 

When I think on the lightsome day 
I spent wi' thee my dearie ; 

And now what seas between us roar, 
How can I but be eerie ! 

For oh % &c 



184 POEMS, 

How slow ye move, ye heavy hours ; 

The joyless day how dreary I 
It, was na sae ye glinted by, 

When I was wi' my dearie. 
For oh, &c. 



POORTITH CAULD. 
Tune— u I had a horse." 



O poortith cauld, and restless love, 
Ye wreck my peace between ye ; 

Yet poortith a' I could forgive, 
An' 'twere na for my Jeanie. 

CHORUS. 

O why should Fate sic pleasure have 
Life's dearest bands untwining f 

Or why sae sweet a flower as Love f 
Depend on Fortune's shining? 

This warld's wealth when I think on, 
It's pride and a' the lave o't ; 

Fie, fie on silly coward man, 
That he should be the slave o't. 
O why, &c # 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 185 

Her een sae bonie blue betray 

How she repays my passion ; 
But prudence is her o'erword ay, 

She talks of rank and fashion. 
O why, Sec, 

O wha can prudence think upon, 

And sic a lassie by him ? 
O wha can prudence think upon, 

And sae in love as I am ? 

O why, &c. 

How blest the humble cotters fate I 

He woo's iiis simple dearie ; 
The sillie bogles, wealth and state, 

Can never make them eerie. 
O why, &c. 



CLARINDA. 



Clarinda, mistress of my soul, 
The measur'd time is run ! 

The wretch beneath the dreary pole 
So marks his latest sun* 

To what dark cave of frozen night 
Shall poor Sylvander hie ; 

Depriv'd of thee, his life and light, 
The sun of all his joy. 



186 POEMS, 






We part— but by these precious drops 

That fill thy lovely eyes ! 
No other light shall guide my steps 

Till thy bright beams arise. 

She the fair sun of all her sex, 
Has blest my glorious day : 
And shall a glimmering planet fix 

My worship to its ray ? 



ISABELLA. 

Tune — c< M'Grigor of Rero's Lament." 

Raving winds around her blowing, 
Yellow leaves the woodlands strowing, 
By a river hoarsely roaring, 
Isabella stray'd, deploring — 
11 Farewell, hours that late did measure 
Sunshine days of joy and pleasure ; 
Hail thou gloomy night of sorrow, 
Cheerless night that knows no morrow. 

M O'er the past too fondly wandering, 
On the hopeless future pondering ; 
Chilly grief my life-blood freezes, 
Fell despair my fancy seizes. 
Life, thou soul of every blessing, 
Load to misery most distressing, 
O how gladly I'd resign thee, 
And to dark oblivion join thee !* 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 187 



WANDERING WILLIE. 



Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie, 
Here awa, there awa, hand away hame 

Come to my bosom my ain only dearie, 
Tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same. 

Winter winds blew loud and cauld at our parting, 
Fears for my Willie brought tears in my e'e ; 

Welcome now simmer, and welcome my Willie, 
The simmer to nature, my Willie to me. 

Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave of your slumbers 
How your dread howling a lover alarms ! 

Wauken, ye breezes, row gently ye billows f 
And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms s 

But oh, if he's faithless, and minds na his Nanie, 
Flow still between us, thou wide roaring main 4 

May I never see it, may I never trow it, 
But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ainf 






188 POEMS. 



PARTING KISS. 

Jockey's laen the parting kiss, 
O'er the mountains he has gane ; 

And with him is a' my bliss, 

Nought but griefs with me remain* 

Spare my hive* ye winds that blaw, 
Plashy sleets and beating rain ! 

Spare my hive, thou feathery snaw, 
Drifting o'er the frozen plain ! 

When the shades of evening creep 
O'er the day's fair, gladsome e*e, 

Sound and safely may he sleep, 
Sweetly blithe his waukening be 

He will think on her he loves, 
Fondly he'll repeat her name ; 

For where'er he distant roves, 
Jockey's heart is still athame. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH, 189 

THE 

ROARING OCEAN 
Tone—" Druimion duhh.* 



Musing on the roaring ocean. 
Which divides my love and me ; 

Wearying Heaven in warm devotion, 
For his weal where'er he be. 

Hope and fear's alternate billow 
Yielding late to Nature's law ; 

Whisp'ring spirits round my pillow 
Talk of him that's far awa. 

Ye whom sorrow never wounded, 
Ye who never shed a tear, 

Care-untroubled, joy-surrounded 
Oaudy day to you is dear. 

Gentle night, do thou befriend me 
Downy sleep, the curtain draw 

Spirits kind, again attend me, 
Talk of him that's far awa 



190 POEMS, 



FAIR ELIZA, 



A GAELIC AIR. 

Turn again, thou fair Eliza ; 

Ae kind blink before we part, 
Rew on thy despairing lover ! 

Canst thou break his faithfu' heart? 
Turn again, thou fair Eliza ; 

If to love thy heart denies, 
For pity hide the cruel sentence 

Under friendship's kind disguise I 

Thee, dear maid, hae I offended? 

The offence is loving thee : 
Canst thou wreck his peace for ever 

Wha for thine would gladly die? 
While the life beats in my bosom, 

Thou shalt mix in ilka throe : 
Turn again, thou lovely maiden, 

Ae sweet smile on me bestow. 

Not the bee upon the blossom, 

In the pride o' sinny noon ; 
Not the little sporting fairy, 

All beneath the simmer moon ; 
Not the poet in the moment 

Fancy lightens on his e'e, 
Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture, 

That thy presence gies to me. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 191 

ELIZA. 

Tone—" Nancy's to the Greenwood," ku 

Farewell thou stream that winding flows 
Around Eliza's dwelling! 

mem'ry ! spare the cruel throes 
Within my bosom swelling ; 

Condemn'd to drag a hopeless chain, 

And yet in secret languish, 
To feel a fire in ev'ry vein, 

Nor dare disclose my anguish. 

Love's veriest wretch, unseen, unknown, 

I fain my griefs would cover : 
The bursting sigh, th' unweeting groan, 

Betray the hapless lover. 

1 know thou doom'st me to despair, 
Nor wilt, nor canst relieve me $ 

But oh, Eliza, hear one prayer, 
For pity's sake, forgive me. 

The music of thy voice I heard, 

Nor wist, while it enslav'd me ; 
I saw thine eyes, yet nothing fear'd, 

Till fears no more had sav'd mi ; 
The unwary sailor tbus aghast, 

The wheeling torrent viewing ; 
'Mid circling horrors sinks at last 

In overwhelming ruin. 



192 POEMS, 

DEPARTURE OF NANCY. 
Tune— f< Oraii-gaoll." 



Behold the hour, the boat arrive ; 

Thou goest, thou darling of my heart ; 
Sever'd from thee can I survive ? 

But fate has will'd, and we must ©art. 

I'll often greet this surging swell, 
Yon distant isle will often hail : 
" E'en here I took the last farewell : 
There latest mark'd her vanish'd sail." 

Along the solitary shore, 

While flitting sea-fowl round me cry, 
Across the rolling, dashing roar, 

I'll westward turn my wistful eye ,. 

Happy, thou Indian grove, I'll say, 
Where now my Nancy's path may be ! 

While thro' thy sweets the loves to stray 
O tell me, does she muse on me ? 



HIEFLY SCOTTISH. J 93 



MY NAME'S AWA. 



Tune— " There'll never be peace,'* &c. 

Now in her green mantle blithe Nature arrays, 
And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er the braes, 
While birds warble welcome in ilka green shaw ; 
But tome it's delightless — my Name's awa. 

The snaw-drap and primrose our woodlands adorn, 
And violets bathe in the weet o' the morn ; 
They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw, \ 
They mind me o' Nanie— and Name's awa. 

Thou lav^ock that springs frae the dews of the 

lawn, 
The shepherd to warno' the grey-breaking dawn, 
And thou mellow mavis that hails the night-fa', 
Give over for pity— my Nanie's awa. 

Come, autumn, sae pensive, in yellow and grey, 
And sooth me wi' tidings o' Nature's decay : 
The dark, dreary winter, and wild-driving suaw, 
Alane can delight me— now Nanie's awa. . 



Vol. II. N 



194 POEMS, 



GLOOMY DECEMBER. 



Ance mair I hail thee, thou gloomy December ! 

Alice tnair I hail thee, wi' sorrow and care ; 
Sad was the parting thou makes me remember, 

Parting wi' Nancy, eh S ne'er to meet mair 

Fond lovers' parting is sweet painful pleasure ; 

Hope beaming mild on the soft-parting hour y 
But the dire feeling, O farewell for ever ! 

Is anguish unmingled and agony pure. 

Wild as the Winter now tearing the forest, 
Till the last leaf o* the Summer is flown, 

Such is the tempest has shaken my bosom, 
Since my last hope and last comfort is gone t 

Still as I hail thee, thou gloomy December, 
Still shall I hail thee wi' sorrow and care ; 

For sad was the parting thou makes me remember, 
Basting wj* Nancy, oh, ne'er to meet mair. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 195 



THE 



BRAES O' BALLOCHMYLE, 



The Catrine woods were yellow seen, 
The flowers decay'd on Catrine lee 

Nae lav'rock sang on hillock green, 
But Nature sicken'd on the e'e. 

Thro' faded groves Maria sang, 
Hersel in beauty's bloom the whyle, 

And ay the wild-wood echoes rang, 
Fareweel the braes o' Ballochmyle. 

Low in your wint'ry beds, ye floweis^ 
Again ye'U flourish fresh and fair; 

Ye birdies dumb, in with'ring bowers, 
Again ye'll charm the vocal air ; 

But here, alas ; for me nae mair 
Shall birdie charm, or floweret smile, 

Fareweel the bonie banks of Ayr, 
Fareweel, fareweel ! sweet Ballochmyle, 



N 2 



196 POEMS, 



BANKS 0' DOON. 



Ye banks and braes o' bonie Doon, 
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair ; 

How can ye chant, ye little birds, 
And I sae weary, fa* o' care ? 

Thou'lt break my heart, thon warbling bird, 
That wantons thro* the flowering thorn \ 

Thou minds me o' departed joys, 
Departed never to return. 

Ofthae I rov'd by bonie Doon, 
To see the rose and woodbine tv*ice ; 

And ilka bird sang o' its love, 
And fondly sae did I o' mine. 

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose ; 

Fu* sweet upon its thorny tree • 

And my fause lover stole: my rose 

But, ah ! he left the thorn wi* me. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH, " 197 

CRAIGIE-BURN. 
Tone — " Craigie-burn-wood." 

Sweet fa's the eve on Craigie-burn, 
And blithe awakes the morrow, 

But a* the pride o' spring's return 
Can yield me nocht but sorrow. 

I see the flowers and spreading tree*, 

I hear the wild birds singing ; 
But what a weary wight can please, 

And care his bosom wringing ? 

Fain, fain would I my griefs impart, 

Yet dare na for your anger ; 
But secret love will break my heart, 

If I conceal it langer, 

If thou refuse to pity me, 

If thou shalt love anither, 
When yon green leaves fade frae the tree, 

Around my grave they'll wither, 



193 POEMS, 

THE 

CHEERLESS SOUL. 
Tune—" Jockey's Grey Bretks.* 

Again rejoicing Nature sees 
Her robe assume its vernal hues, 

Her leafy locks wave in the breeze, 
Ail freshly steep'd in morning dew§. 

In vain to me the cowslips blaw, 
In vain to me the vi'lets spring ; 

In vain to me, in glen or shaw. 
The mavis and the lintwhite sing 

The merry ploughboy cheers his team, 
Wi* joy the tentie seedsman stalks, 

But life to me's a weary dream, 
A dream of ane that never wauks. 

The wanton coot the water skims, 
Amang the reeds the ducklings cry, 

The stately swan majestic swims, 
And every thing is blest but I. 

The sheep-herd steeks his faulding slap, 
And owre ihe moorlands whistles shdl, 

Wi' wild, unequal, wand'rinsr ste 
I meet him on the dewy hill. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 199 

And when the lark, 'tween light and dark, 
Blythe waukens by the daisy's side, 

And mounts and sings on flittering wings, 
A woe^worn ghaist I hameward glide. 

Come, Winter, with thine angry howl, 
And raging bend the naked tree ; 

Thy gloom will sooth my cheerless soul, 
When Nature all is sad like me ! 



THE DISCONSOLATE LOVER. 

Now spring has clad the groves in green, 

And strewM the lea wi' flowers ; 
The furrow'd, waving corn is seen 

Rejoice in fostering showers ; 
While ilka thing in nature join 

Their sorrows to forego, 
O why thus all alone are mine 

The weary steps of woe ! 

The trout within yon wimpling burn 

Glides swift, a silver dart, 
And safe beneath the shady thorn 

Defies the angler's art ! 
My life was ance that careless stream, 

That wanton trout was I ; 
But love, wi' unrelenting beam, 

Has scorch'd my fountains dry. 



200 POEMS, 

The little flow'ret's peaceful lot, 

In yonder cliff that grows, 
Which, save the linnet's flight, I wot$ 

Nae ruder visit knows, 
Was mine ; till love has o'er me past, 

And blighted a* my bloom, 
And now beneath the withering blast 

My youth and joy consume. 

The waken'd lav'rock warbling springs, 

And climbs the early sky. 
Winnowing blithe her dewy wings 

In morning's rosy eye ; 
As little reckt I sorrow's power, 

Until the flowery snare 
O' witching love, in luckless hour 

Made me the thrall o' care. 

O had my fate been Greenland snows, 

Or Afric's burning zone, 
Wi' Man and Nature leagu'd my foes, 

So Peggy ne'er I'd known ! 
The wretch whase doom is, " hope nae mair, 

What tongue his woes can tell I 
Within whase bosom, save despair, 

Nae kinder spirits dwell. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 201 

MARY MORISON. 
Tune— "Bide ye yet." 

Mary, at thy window be, 

It is the wish'd the trysted hour ! 
Those smiles and glances let me see, 

That make the miser's treasure poor • 
How blithely wad I bide the stoure, 

A weary slave frae sun to sun ; 
Could I the rich reward secure, 

The lovely Mary Morison. 

Yestreen when to the trembling string, 
The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha', 

To thee my fancy took its wing, 
I sat, but neither heard nor saw . 

Tho' this was fair, and that was braw 
And you the toast of a' the town, 

1 sigh/d, and said amang them a*, - 
" Ye are na Mary Morison." 

O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace, 

Wha for thy sake wad gladly die ? 
Or canst thou break that heart of hia^ 

Whase only fault is loving thee ? 
If love for love thou wilt na gie, 

At least be pity to me shown! 
A thought ungentle canna be 

The thought o' Mary Morison. 



202 POEMS, 



FAIR JENNY. 



Tune—" Saw ye my father ?" 

Where are the joys I have met in the morning? 

That dauc'd to the lark's early song ? 
Where is the peace that awaited my wand'ring, 

At evening the wild woods among ? 

No more a winding the course of yon river, 
And marking sweet flow'rets so fair : 

No more I trace the light footsteps of pleasure, 
But sorrow and sad sighing care. 

Is it that summer's forsaken our valleys, 

And grim, surly winter is near? 
No 9 no, the bees humming round the gay roses, 

Proclaim it the pride of the year. 

Fain would I hide what I fear to discover, 
Yet long, long too well have I known : 

All that has caused this wreck in my bosom, 
la Jenny, fair Jenny alone. 

Time cannot aid me, my griefs are immortal, 

Nor hope dare a comfort bestow : 
Come then, enamour' d and fond of my anguish, 

Enjoyment I'll seek in my woe. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 203 



ADDRESS 



TO THE WOOD LARK. 

Tune — " Where'll bonnie Ann lie." Or, 
" Loch Eroch-side." 

O stay, sweet warbling wood-lark stay. 
Nor quit for me the trembling spray, 
A hapless lover courts thy lay, 

Thy soothing, fond complaining. 



Again, again that tender part, 
That I may catch thy melting art ; 
For surely that wad touch her heart, 
Wha kills me wi' disdaining. 



Say. .was thy little mate unkind, 
And heard thee as the careless wind ? 
Oh, nocht but love and sorrow join'd, 
Sic notes o' woe could wauken. 



Thou tells o* never-ending care ; 
O* speechless grief, and dark despair ; 
For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae mair ; 
Or my poor heart is broken I 



• 



204 



POEMS 



FRAGMENT, 
in witherspoon's collection of scots songs 

Air—" Hugbie Graham." 

O were my love yon lilac fair, 
Wi' purple blossoms to the spring ; 

And I a bird to shelter there, 
^Yhen wearied on my little wing : 

How I wad mourn, when it was torn 
By autumn wild, and winter rude! 

But I wad sing en wanton wing, 

When youthfn' May its bloom ienewM*« 

fi O gin my love were yon red rose, 
That grows upon the castle wa', 

And I my set* a drap o' dew, 
Into her bonnie breast to fa'! 

" Oh, there beyond expression blest, 
I'd feast on beauty a' the night ; 

Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest, 
Till fiey'd awa by Phoebus' light." 

• Tbe»e stor.iAs were prefixed by Bums. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 205 



ADDRESS TO A LADY. 



Oh, wert thou in the cauld blast, 

On yonder lea, on yonder lea, 
My plaidie to the angry airt, 

I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee : 
Or did misfortune's bitter storms 

Around thee blaw, around thee blaw, 
Thy bield should be my bosom, 

To share it a', to share it a\ 

Or were I in the wildest waste, 

Sae black and bare, sae black and bare, 
The desert were a paradise, 

If thou wert there, if thou wert there. 
Or were I monarch o' the globe, 

Wi' thee reign, to wi' thee to reign, 
The brightest jewel in my crown, 

Wad bee my queen, wad be my queen 



THE AULD MAN. 

But lately seen in gladsome green 

The woods rejoice the day, 
Thro* gentle showers the laughing flowers 

In double pride were gay : 



206 POEMS, 

Bnt now our joys are fled, 

On winter blasts awa ! 
Yet maiden May, in rich array, 

Again shall bring them a\ 

Bnt my white pow, nae kindly thowe 

Shall melt the snaws of age ; 
My trwnk of eild, bat buss or bield, 

Sinks in Time's wint'ry rage. 
Oh, age has weary days, 

And nights o' sleepless pain ! 
Thou golden time o' youthfu* prime, 

Why com'st ihoa not again ? 



JOHN ANDERSON MY JO. 

John Anderson my jo, John, 

When v.e were first acquent, 
Your locks were like the raven, 

Your bonie brow w as brent ; 
But now your brow is beld, John 

Your locks are like the snow ; 
But blessings on your frosty pow 

John Anderson my jo. 

John Anderson my jo, John, 
We clamb the hill thegither ; 

And mome a canty day, John, 
We've had wi' ane anither : 



CHIEFLV SCOTTISH. 207 

Now we maun totter down, John, 

But hand in hand we'll go, 
And sleep thegither at the foot, 

John Anderson my jo. 



AULD LANG SYNE. 

Should anld acquaintance be forgot, 

And never brought to min* ? 
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 

And days o' lang syne ? 

CHORUS. 

For auld lang syne, my dear. 

For auld lang syne, 
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet 9 

For auld lang syne* 

We twa hae run about the braes, 

And pu't the gowans fine ; 
But we've wander'd monie a weary foot^ 

Sin* auld lang syne. 

For auld, &c. 

We twa hae paidl't i' the burn, 

Frae mornin sun till dine ; 
But seas between us braid hae roar'd, 

Sin auld lang syne. 

For atld, &c. 



208 POEMS, 



And here's a hand, my trusty fiere 

And gies a hand o* thine ; 
And we'll tak a right guid willie-waught, 

For auld lang syne. 

For auld, &c. 

And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp* 

And surely I'll be mine ; 
And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, 

For auld lang syne. 

For auld, &c. 



HOPELESS LOVE, 

Tune—" Liggerham Cosh, 

Blithe hae I been on yon hill, 
As the lambs before me ; 

Careless ilka thought and free, 
As the breeze flew o'er me : 

Now nae longer sport and play, 
Mirth or sang can please me , 

Lesley is sae fair and coy, 
Care and anguish seize me* 

Heavy, heavy, is the task . 

Hopeless love declaring: 
Trembling, I dow nocht but glow'r, 

Sighing, dumb, despairing ! 






CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 209 

If she winna ease the thraws, 

In my bosom swelling ; 
Underneath the grass-gre^n so<] 

Soon maun be my dwelling. 



BANKS OF NITH. 

Tune— " Robie Donna Gorach." 

The Thames flows proudly to the sea, 
Where royal cities stately stand ; 

Bnt sweeter flows the Nith to wt, 

Where Commins ance had high command 4 

When shall I see that honour'd land, 
That winding stream I love so dear ! 

Must wayward Fortune's adverse hand 
For ever, ever keep me here ? 

How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales, 
Where spreading hawthorns gaily bloom 

How sweetly wind thy sloping dales, 

Where lambkins wanton thro' the broom! 

Tho' wandering, now, must be my doom, 
Far from thy bonie banks and braes, 

May there my latest hours consume, 
Amang the friends of early days I 

Vol. II, O 



21C POBMS, 



BANKS OF CREE. 



Here is the gleii, and here the bower 
All underneath the birchen shade ; 

The village bell has told the hour, 
O what can stay my lovely maid ? 

'Tis not Maria's whispering call ; 

'Tis but the balmy-breathing gale ; 
Mix* with some warbler's dying fall, 

The dewy star of eve to hail. 

It is Maria's voice I hear ! 

So calls the woodlark in the grove, 
His little faithful mate to cheer, 

At once 'tis music — and 'tis love. 

And art thou come! and art thou true! 

O welcome dear to love and me ! 
And let us all our vows renew, 

Along the flowery banks of Cree. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 211 



CASTLE GORDON. 

Streams that glide in orient plains, 
Never bound by winter's chains ; 
Glowing here on golden sands, 
There commix'd with foulest stains 
From tyranny's empurpled bands ; 
These, their richly-gleaming waves, 
I leave to tyrants and their slaves ; 
Give me the stream that sweetly laves 
The banks by Castle Gordon, 

Spicy forests, ever gay, 
Shading from the burning ray • 

Hapless wretches sold to toil, 
Or the ruthless native's way, 
Bent on slaughter, blood, and spoil . 
Woods that ever verdant wave, 
I leave the tyrant and the slave, 
Give me the groves that lofty brave 
The storms by Castle Gordon. 

Wildly here without control, 
Nature reigns and rules the whole ; 
In that sober pensive mood, 
Dearest to the feeling soul, 
She plants the forest, pours the flood , 
Life's poor day I'll musing rave, 
And find at night a sheltering cave, 
Where waters flow and wild woods wave, 
By bonie Castle Gordon. 
o % 



212 POEMS, 



AFTON WATER. 

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, 
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise - y 
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, 
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 

Thou stock-dove whose echo resounds thro' the glen, 
Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den, 
Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screamingforbear 
I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair. 

How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills, 
Far mark'd with the courses of clear, winding rills ; 
There daily I wander as noon rises high, 
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye. 

How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below 
Where wild in the woodlands the primioses blow * 
There oft as mild ev'ning weeps over Ihe lea, 
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me. 

Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides, 
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides ; 
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave, 
As gathering sweet flow'rets she stems thy clear 
wave. 

Flow gentry, sweet Afton, among thy green braes. 
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays ; 
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, 
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not ber drean 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH 213 



THE SACRED VOW. 



Tune— "Allan Water." 

By Allan stream I chanc'd to rove, 

While Phoebus sank beyond Benleddi* , 
iThe winds were whisp'ring through the grove 
1 The yellow corn was waving ready : 

I listen'd to a lover's sang, 

And thought on youthfV pleasures monie ; 
And ay the wild-wood echoes rang— 

O, dearly do I love thee, Annie ! 

O, happy be the woodbine bower, 
Nae nightly bogle make it eerie ; 
?Nor ever sorrow stain the hour, 

The place and time I met my dearie ! 

[Her head upon my throbbing breast, 

She, sinking, said, u I'm thine for ever !•" 
'^While monie a kiss the seal imprest. 

The sacred vow, we ne'er should sever. 

i 

' The baunt o' spring's the primrose brae, 
The simmer joys the flocks to follow ; 

1 How cheery through her shortening day, 
Is autumn in her weeds o* yellow ; 

* A tnountaia west of Stratb-Allan, 3009 fectjiigb. 



214 POEMS, 

But can they melt the glowing heart, 
Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure 

Or thro' each nerve the rapture dart, 
Like meeting her our bosom's treasure 



THE RIGS O' BARLEY. 
Tune—'* Corn rigs are bonie." 

It was upon a Lammas night, 

When corn rigs are bonie, 
Beneath the moon's unclouded light, 

I held awa to Annie . 
The time flew by wi* tentiess heed 

Till 'tween the late and early j 
Wi* sma' persuasion she agreed, 

To see me thro' the barley, 



The sky was blue, the wind was still, 

The moon was shining clearly ; 
I set her down wi* right good will, 

Amang the rigs o' barley : 
I kent her heart was a' my ain 

I lov'd her most sincerely ; 
I kiss'd her owre and owre again 

Amang the rigs o* barley. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 215 

I lock'd her in my fond embrace ; 

Her heart was beating rarely : 
My blessings on that happy place, 

Amang the rigs o' barley ! 
But by the moon and stars so bright 

That shone that hour so clearly . 
She ay shall bless that happy night, 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 

I hae been blythe wi 1 comrades dear ; 

I hae been merry drinkin ; 
I hae been joyfu' gath'rin gear ; 

I hae been happy thinkin : 
But a' the pleasures e'er I saw, 

Tho* three times doubled fairly, 
That happy night was worth them a* 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 



CHORUf. 

Corn rigs, an 9 barley rigs. 

Corn rigs are bonie f 
Til ne'er forget that happy nigtu, 

Amang the rigs wi' Annie. 



216 FOEMS, 



THE LEA-RIG. 



When o'er the hill the eastern star, 

Tells bughtin-time is near, my jo • 
And owsen frae the furrow'd field, 

Return sae dowf and weary O ; 
Down by the burn, where scented birki 

Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo, 
I'll meet thee on the lea-rig, 

My ain kind dearie O. 

In mirkest glen, at midnight hour, 

I'd rove, and ne'er be eerie O, 
If thro* that glen I gaed to thee, 

My ain kind dearie O. 
Altho' the night were ne'er sae wild, 

And I were ne'er sae we&rie O, 
I'd meet thee on the lea-rig, 

My ain kind dearie O. 

The hunter lo'es the morning sun, 

To rouse the moimtain-deer, my jo; 
At noon the fisher seeks the glen, 

Along the burn to steer, my jo ; 
Gie me the hour o' gloamin grey, 

It maks my heart sae cheerie O, 
To meet thee on the lea-rig, 

My ain kind dearie O. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 217 

THl 

MSS OF BALLOCHMYLE. 



•Twas even—the dewy fields were green, 

On every blade the pearls hang ; 
The zephyr wanton'd round the bean, 

And bore its fragrant sweets alang : 
In every glen the mavis sang, 

All nature listening seem'd the while, 
Except where greenwood echoes rang, 

Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle. 

With careless step I onward stray'd, 

My heart rejoic'd in nature's joy, 
When, musing in a lonely glade, 

A maiden fair I chanc'd to spy ; 
Her look was like the morning's eye, 

Her air like nature's vernal smile, 
Perfection whisper'd, passing by, 

Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle ! 

Fair is the morn in flowery May, 

And sweet is night in Autumn mild ; 
When roving thro' the garden gay, 

Or wand'ring in the lonely wild ; 
But woman, nature's darling child I 

There all her charms she does compile ; 
E v'n there her other works are foil'd 

By the bonie lass o' Ballochmyle. 



218 POEMS, 

O, had she been a country maid, 

And I the happy country swaio, 
Tho' sheltered in the lowest shed 

That ever rose in Scotland's plain 1 
Thro' weary winter's wind and rain 

With joy, with rapture, I would toil ; 
And nightly to my bosom strain 

The bonie lass o' Ballochmyle. 

Then pride might climb the slipp'ry steep, 

Where fame and honours lofty shine ; 
And thirst of gold might tempt the deep, 

Or downward seek the Indian mine ; 
Give me the cot below the pine, 

To tend the flocks, or till the soil, 
And every day have joys divine, 

WT the bonie lass o' Ballochmyle. 



BONIE LESLEY. 

O saw ye bonie Lesley 

As she gaed o'er the border? 

She's gane, like Alexander, 
To spread her conquests farther. 

To see her is to love her, 
And love but her for ever; 

For nature made her what she h 9 
And ne'er made sic anither I 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH 219 

Thou art a queen, fair Lesley, 

Thy subjects we, before thee : 
Thou art divine, fair Lesley, 

The hearts o' men adore thee. 

The Deil he could na scaith thee, 
Or aught that wad belang thee j 

He'd look into thy bonie face, 
And say, * I canna wrang the€.' 

The Powers aboon will tent thee ; 

Misfortune sha'na steer thee ; 
Thou'rt like themselves sae lovely, 

That ill they'll ne'er let near thee. 

Return again, fair Lesley, 

Return to Caledonie f 
That we may brag, we hae a lass 

There's nane again sae bonie. 



BONIE JEAN. 

There was a lass, and she was fair 
At kirk and market to be seen, 

When a' the fairest maids were met, 
The fairest maid was bonie Jean. 

And ay she wrought her mammie's wark f 
And ay she sang sae merrilie , 

The blithest bird upon the busn 
Had ne'er <x lighter heart than she* 



220 POEMS, 

Bat hawks will rob the tender joys 
That bless the little liutwhite's nest ; 

And frost will blight the fairest flowers, 
And love will break the soundest rest 

Young Robie was the brawest lad, 
The flower and pride of a' the glen ; 

And he had owsen, sheep, and kye, 
And wanton naigies nine or ten. 

He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste, 
He danc'd wi' Jeanie on the down ; 

And lang ere witless Jeanie wist, 
Her heart was tint, her peace was stown* 

As in the bosom o' the stream, 
The moon-beam dwells at dewy e'en ; 

So trembling, pure, was tenderlove, 
Within the breast o' bonie Jean, 

And now she works her raammie's warK, 
And ay she sighs wi' care and pain ; 

Yet wist na what her ail might be, 
Or what wad mak her weel again. 

But did na JeamVs heart loup light, 
And did na joy blink in her e'e, 
' As Robie tauld a tale o' love, 
Ae e'enin on the lily lea? 

The sun was sinking in the west, 
The birds sang sweet in ilka grove ; 

His cheek to her's he fondly prest, 
And whispered thus his tale o' love * 






CHIEFLY SCOITISH. 221 

O Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear ; 

O canst thou think to fancy me ? 
Or wilt thou leave thy mammie's cot, 

An learn to tent the farms wi' me ? 

At barn or byre thou shalt na drudge, 
Or naething else to trouble thee ; 

But stray amang the heather-bells, 
And tent the waving corn wr* me. 

Now what could heartless Jeanie do 
She had nae will to sae him na : 

At length she blush'd a sweet consent, 
And love was ay between them twa. 



TO JEANIE. 

Air—" Cauld Kail." 

Come, let me take thee to my breast, 
And pledge we ne'er shall sunder ; 

And I shall spurn, as vilest dust, 
The warld's wealth and grandeur 

And do I hear my Jeanie own, 
That equal transports move her ♦ 

I ask for dearest lite alone 
That I may live to love her. 



222 poems, 

Thus in my arms, wi' all thy charms, 
I clasp my countless treasure : 

I'll seek nae mair, o' heaven to share, 
Than* sic a moment's pleasure : 

And by thy e'en sae bonie blue, 
I swear I'm thine for ever ! 

And on thy lips I seal my vow, 
And break it shall I never. 



DAINTY DAVIE. 



Now rosy May comes in wr* flowers, 
To deck her gay green spreading bowers ; 
And now comes in my happy hours, 
To wander wi' my Davie, 



Meet me on the trarlock knowe, 
Dainty Davie, dainty Davie, 

There III syend the day wi' you, 
My ain dear dainty Davie. 

The crystal waters round us fa*, . 
The merry birds are lovers a', 
The scented breezes round us blaw, 
A-wandering wi' my Davie, 
Meet me. &c. 






CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 223 

When purple morning starts Hie bare, 
To steal upon her early fare, 
Then thro' the dews 1 will repair, 
To meet my faithiV Davie. 
Meet me, &c. 

When day, expiring in the west, 
The curtain draws o' Nature's rest, 
I flee to his arms I lo'e best, 

And that's my ain dear Davie. 

CHORUS. 

Meet me on the warlock knowe, 

Bonie Davie, dainty Davie^ 
There I'll spend the day wi' you, 

My ain dear dainty Davie, 



LOVELY NANCY. 
1 une— " The Quaker's wife. 1 



Thine am I, my faithful fair, 
Thine, my lovely Nancy • 

Ev'ry pulse along my veins, 
Ev'ry roving fancy. 



224 poems, 

To thy bosom lay my heart, 
There to throb and languish : 

Tho* despair had wrung its core, 
That would heal its anguish. 

Take away those rosy lips, 
Rich with balmy treasure : 

Turn away thine eyes of love, 
Lest I die with pleasure. 

What is life when wanting love ? 

Night without a morning : 
Love's the cloudless summer win^ 

Nature gay adorning. 



CLOUDEN KNOWES. 
Tune—" Ca' the Yowes to the Kuowes.* 

CHORUS, 

Ca y the yowes to the knowes, 
Ca' them vchare the heather grow*, 
Ca' them whare the burnie rows, 
My bonie dearie. 

Hark, the mavis' evening sang 
Sounding Clouden's woods amang* 
Then a-laulding let us gang, 
My bonie dearie. 

Ca' the, &c. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 225 

We'll gae down by Clouden side, 
Thro' the hazels spreading wide, 
O'er the waves, that sweetly glide 
To the moon sae clearly. 
Ca' the, &c. 

Yonder Clouden's silent tow'rs, 
Where at moonshine midnight hours, 
O'er the dewy bending flowers, 
Fairies dance sae cheery. 
Ca' the, &c. 

Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear ; 
Thou'rt to love and heaven sae dear, 
Nocht o' ill may come thee near, 
My bonie dearie. 

Ca' the, &c. 

Fair and lovely as thon art. 
Thou hast stown my very hew* ; 
I can die— but canna part| 
My bonie dearie. 

Co 1 the, &u 



Vol. II 



226 H0EM*5 



TO CHLORIS. 



Tune—" My lodging is on the cold Ground. 1 

My Chloris, mark how green the groves 

The primrose banks how fair : 
The balmy gales awake the flowers, 

And wave thy flaxen hair. 

The lav'rock shuns the palace gay 

And o'er the cottage sings . 
For Nature smiies as sweet, I ween, 

To shepherds as to kings. 

Let minstrels sweep the skilrV string 

In lordly lighted ha' : 
The shepherd stops his simple reed, 

Blithe, in the birken shaw. 

The princely revel may survey 

Our rustic dance wi' scorn ; 
But are their hearts as light as ours 

Beneath the milk whitethorn? 

The shepherd, in the flowery glen, 

In shepherd's phrase will woo : 
The courtier tells a finer tale, 

But is his heart as true ? 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 227 

These wild-wood flowers I've pu'd to deck 
That spotless breast o' thine : 

The courtier's gems may witness love- 
But 'tis na love like mine. 



CHLORIS 



bonie was yon rosy brier, 

That blooms sae far frae haunt o r man , 
And bonie she, and ah, how dear I 

It shaded frae the e'enin sun. 

Yon rosebuds in the morning d*»w 

How pure am am? the leaves sae gteen • 
But purer was the lovers vow 

They witnessed in their shade yestreen- 
All iiuts rnde and prickly bower, 

That crimson rose, how sweet and fair | 
But love is far a sweeter flower 

Amid life's thorny path o' care, 

The pathless wild, and wimpling burn, 
Wi' Chloris in my arms, be mine ; 

And I the world, nor wish nor scorn 
Itsjoys and griefs alike resign. 
p* 



228 poems, 

lassie with the l1nt-tvhitb locks. 

Tune— <l Rothemurcbe'a Rant." 

CHORUS 

Lassie wV the lint-white locks f ;a 

Bonie'lassie, artless lassie. 
Will thou wi' me tent the flocks, 

WUt thou be my dearie O f 

Now nature cleeds the flowery lea 
And a' is young and sweet like thee § 
O wilt thou share its joys wi' me, 
And say thou'lt be my dearie O ?, 

Lassie, Sic. 

Aud when the welcome simmer-shower 
Has cheer'd ilk drooping little flower, 
We'll to the breathing woodbine bower 
At sultry noon, my dearie O. 

Lassie, &c. 

When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray, 
The weary shearer's hameward way , 
Thro* yellow waving fields we'll stray,' 
And talk o* love, my dearie O. 
Lassie, 6tC, 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 229 

And when the howling wint'ry blast 
Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest, 
Enclasped to my faithfV breast, 
I'll comfort thee, my dearie O. 
Lassie, &c. 



THIS IS NO MY AIN LASSIE. 
Tune—" This is no my ain House." 



CHORUS. 

O this is no my ain lassie, 

Fair tho' the lassie be ; 
O weel ken I my ain lassie, 

Kind love is in her e'e. 

I see a form, I see a face, 
Ye weel may wi' the fairest place , 
It wants, to me, the witching grace, 
The kind love that's in her e'e. 
O this, &c. 

She's bonie, blooming, straight, and tall, 
And lang has had my heart in thrali ; 
And ay it charms my very sanl, 
The kind love that's in her e'e. 
O this. &c. 



230 POEx\*s, 

A thief aae pawkie is my Jean, 
To steal a blink, by a* unseen ; 
But gleg as light are lovers' een, 
When kind love is in the e'e. 
O this, &c. 

It may escape the courtly sparks, 
It may escape the learned clerks ; 
But weel the watching lover marks 
The kind love that's in her e'e. 
O this, &c. 



JESSY. 



Tune—" Here's a health to them that's awa, hiney.* 

CHORUS, 

Here's a health to ane I We dear, 

Here's a health to ane I lo f e dear , 

Thou art sweet as the smile whenfond lovers meet 

And soft as their parting tear — Jessy ! 

Altho' thou maun never be mine, 

Altho' even hope is denied ; 
'Tis sweeter for thee despairing, 

Than aught in the world beside— Jessy ! 
Here's, &c. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 231 

I mourn thro' the gay, gaudy day, 
As hopeless I muse on thy charms ; 

Bnt welcome the dream o' sweet slumber, 
For then I am lockt in thy arms — Jessy 
Here's, &c. 

I guess by the dear ange* smile, 

I guess by the love-rolling e'e : 
But why urge the tender confession 

'Gainst Fortune's fell cruel decree— Jessy ! 
Heine's, &c. 



THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDY. 

CHORUS, 

Bonie lassie, will ye go, will ye go, will ye go, 
Bonie lassie, will you go to tlit kirks of Aberjeldu t 

Now simmer blinks on flowery braes, 
And o'er the crystal streamlet plays, 
Come let. us spend the lightsome days 
In the birks of Aberfeldy. 
Bonie lassie, &c. 

While o'er their heads the hazels hing, 

The little birdies blithely sing, 

Or lightly flit on wanton wing, 

In the birks of Aberfeldy. 

Bonie lassie, &c. 



232 poems, 

The braes ascend like lofty wa's, 
The foaming stream deep- roaring fa's, 
O'er-hung wi' fragrant spreading shaws, 
The birks of Aberfeldy. 
Bonie lassie, <&c. 

The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi* flowers- 
White o'er the linns the burnie pours, 
And rising weets wi' misty showers 
The birks of Aberfeldy. 
Bonie lassie, &c. 

Let Fortune's gifts at random flee, 
They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me x 
Supremely blest wi' love and thee, 
In the birks of Aberfeldy. 
Bonie lassie, &c. 



THE ROSE-BUD. 

A rose-bud in my early walk, 
Adown a corn-enclosed bawk, 
Sae gently bent its thorny stalk 
All on a dewy morning. 

Ere twice the shades o* dawn are fled, 
In a' its crimson glory sjpread, 
And drooping rich the dewy head. 
It scents the early morning. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 233 

Within the bush, her covert nest 
A little linnet fondly prest, 
The dew sat chilly on her breast 
Sae early in the morning. 

She soon shall see her tender brood, 
The pride, the pleasure o* the wood, 
Amang the fresh green leaves bedew'd, 
Awake the early morning. 

So thou, dear bird, young Jeany fair, 
On trembling string or vocal air, 
Shall sweetly pay the tender care 
That tents thy early morning. 

So thou, sweet rose-bud, young and gay, 
Shall beauteous blaze upon the day, 
And bless the parent's evening ray 
That watch'd thy early morning. 



PFGGY'S CHARMS. 
Tune^" N. Gow's Lamentation for Abercairny.* 

Where braving angry winter's storms, 

The lofty Ochels rise, 
Far in their shade my Peggy's charms 

First blest my wondering eyes. 
As one who by some savage stream, 

A lonely gem surveys, 
Astonish'd, doubly marks its beam, 

With art's most polish' d blaze* 



234 poems, 

Blest be the wild sequester'd shade, 

And blest the day and hour, 
Where Peggy's charms I first survey'd, 

When first I felt their pow'r ! 
The tyrant Death with grim control 

May seize my fleeting breath ; 
But tearing Peggy from my soul 

Must be a stronger death. 



THE BLISSFUL DAY. 
Tune — " Seventh of November." 

The day returns, my bosom burns. 

The blissful day we twa did meet, 
Tho' winter wild in tempest toil'd, 

Ne'er summer sun was half sae sweet. 
Than a* the pride that loads the tide, 

And crosses o'er the sultry line ; 
Than kingly robes, than crowns and globes, 

Heaven gave me more, it made thee mine. 

While day and night can bring delight, 

Or nature aught of pleasure give ; 
While joys above, my mind can move, 

For thee, and thee, alone I live \ 
When that grim foe of life below 

Comes in between to make us part ; 
The iron hand that breaks our band, 

It breaks my bliss— it breaks my heart. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 235 



CONSTANCY 

Tune—" My love is lost to me." 

O, were I on Parnassus* hill ! 
Or had of Helicon my fill ; 
That I might catch poetic skill, 
To sing how dear I love thee* 

But Nith maun be my Muse's well, 
My Muse maun be thy borne sel ; 
On Corsiucon 111 glowr and spell, 
And write how dear I love thee. 

Then come, sweet Muse, inspire my lay ! 
For a* the lee-lang simmer's day, 
I coudna sing, I coudna say, 

How much, how dear I love thee. 

I see thee dancing o'er the green, 
Thy waist sae jimp, thy limbs sae clean, 
Thy tempting lips, thy roguish e'en— 
By heaven and earth I love thee * 

By night, by day, a-field, at hame, 
The thoughts o' thee my breast inflame ' 
And ay I muse and sing thy name* 
I only live to love thee. 



236 poems, 

Thongn I were doom'd to wander on. 
Beyond the sea, beyond the sun, 
Till my last weary sand was run ; 
Till then — and then I love thee* 



LOVELY JEAN. 
Tuke— " Miss Admiral Gordon's Strathspey* 

Op a' the airts the wind can blaw, 

I dearly like the west; 
For there the bonie lassie lives, 

The lassie I lo'e best : 
There wild woods grow, and rivers row 

And monie a hill between ; 
But day and night my fancy's flight 

I3 ever wi' my Jean. 

J see her in the dewy flowers, 

I see her sweet and fair : 
I hear her in the tunefu' birds, 

I hear her charm the air : 
There's not a bonie flower that springs 

By fountain, shaw, or green ; 
There's not a bonie bird that sings, 

But minds me 0' my Jean. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 237 



THE 

BLUE-EYED LASSIE. 

I gaed a waefu' gate, yestreen, 

A gate, I fear, I'll dearly rue . 
I gat my death frae twa sweet een, 

Twa* lovely een o' bonie blue. 
'Twas not her golden ringlets bright ; 

Her lips like roses wat wi' dew, 
Her heaving bosom, lily white ; 

It washer een sae bonie blue. 

She talk'd, she smil'd, my heart she wyl'd 

She cbarm'd my soul I "wist nae how ; 
And ay the stonnd, the deadly wound, 

Cam frae her een sae bonie blue. 
But spare to speak, and spare to speed; 

She'll aiblins listen to my vow : 
Should she refuse, I'll lay my dead 

To her twa een sae bonie blue. 



WILT THOU BE MY DEARIE 

Wilt thou be my dearie ? 

When sorrow wrings thy gentle heart, 
O wilt thou let me cheer thee 

By th€ treasure of my sou 



238 poems! 

And that's the love I bear the? ! 

I swear and vow, that only thof 
Shall ever be ray dearie. 

Only thou, I swear and vow, 
Shall ever be my dearie. 

Lassie, say thou lo'es me ! 

Or, if thou wilt na be my aH, 
Say na thou'lt refuse roe 5 

If it winna, canna be, 
Thou for thine may choose me ; 

Let me, lassie, quickly die, 
Trusting that thou lo'es me. 

Lassie, let me quickly die, 

Trusting that thou lo'es me. 



LUCY. 

O, wat ye wha's in yon town, 

Ye see the e'enin sun upon ? 
The fairest dame's in yon town, 

That e'enin sun is shining on. 

Now haply down yon gay green shaw, 
She wanders by yon spreading tree, 

How blest ye flow'rs that round her blaw 
Ye catch the glances o' her e'e. 

How blest ye birds that round her sing, 
And welcome in the blooming year, 

And doubly welcome be the spring, 
The season to my Lucy dear. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 239 

The sun blinks blithe on yon town, 
And on yon bonie braes of Ayr; 

But my delight in yon town, 
And dearest bliss, is Lucy fair. 

Without my love, not a* the charmt 
O' Paradise could yield me joy ; 

But gie me Lucy in my arms, 
And welcome Lapland's dreary sky. 

My cave wad be a lover's bower, 
Tho' raging winter rent the air ; 

And she a lovely little flower, 
That I wad tent and shelter there. 

O, sweet is she in yon town, 

Yon sinking sun's gaen down upon ; 

A fairer than's in yon town, 
His setting beam ne'er shone upon. 

If angry fate is sworn my foe, 
And suffering I am doom'd to bear , 

I careless quit aught else below, 
But spare me, spare me, Lucy dear. 

For while life's dearest blood is warm, 
Ae thought frae her shall ne'er depart, 

And she — as fairest is her form, 
Sue has the truest, kindest heart. 



240 POEMS, 



BLITHE PHEMIE. 



Blithe, blithe and merry was she. 

Blithe was she but and ben ; 
Blithe by the banks of Ern, 

And blithe in Glenturit glen* 

By Oughtertyre grows the aik, 
On Yarrow banks the birken shaw; 

Bnt Phemie was a bonier lass 
Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw. 
Blithe, &c. 

Her looks were like a flower in May, 
Her smile was like a simmer morn ; 

She tripped by the banks of Ern, 
As light's a bird upon a thorn. 
Blitlie, &c. 

Her bonie face it was as meek 

As onie lamb upon alee : 
The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet 

As was the blink o' Phemie's e'e. 
Blithe, &c. 

The Highland hills I've wander'd wide, 
And o'er the Lowlands I hae been j 

But Phemie was the blithest lass 
That ever trod the dewy green. 
Blithe, <&c. , 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH, 241 



CHARMING NANNIE. 

Behind yon hills where Lugar flows, 
? Mang moors and niosses many, O, 

The wint'ry sun the day has clos'd, 
And I'll awa to Nannie, O. 

The westlin wind blaws loud an* shill : 
The night's baith mirk and rainy, O 

But I'll get my plaid, an* out I'll steal, 
An* owre the hills to Nannie, O. 

My Nannie's charming, sweet, an* young 
Nae artfV wiles to win ye, O : 

May ill befa' the flattering tongue 
That wad beguile my Nannie, O, 

Her face is fair, her heart is true, 
As spotless as she's boaie, O : 

The op'ning gowan, wet wi' dew , 
Nae purer is than Nannie, O. 

A country lad is my degree* 
An* few there be that ken me, O 

But what care I how few they be, 
I'm welcome ay to Nannie, O. 

My riches a' 's my penny-fee, 
An' I maun guide it cannie, O ; 

ButVarl's gear ne'er troubles me, 
My thoughts are a' my Nannie, O* 
Q 



242 poems, 

Our auld Guidman delights toview"* 
His sheep an' kye thrive bonie, O ; 

But I'm as blythe that bauds his pleugb, 
An' has nae care but Nannie, O. t 

Come weal, come woe, I care Da by, 
I'll tak what Heav'n will sen* me, O 5 

Nae ither care in life have I, 
But live, an love my Nannie, O. 






GREEN GROW THE RASHES 
A FRAGMENT. 

CHORUS. 

Green grow the rashes, O ! 

Green grow the rashes, O ! 
The sweetest hours that e'er I spent, 

Are spent amang the lasses, O I 

There's nought but care on ev'ry ban', 
In ev*ry hoar that passes, O ; 

What signifies the life, o' man, 
An' 'twere ua for the lasses, O ? 
Green grow, &c. 

The warly race may riches chase, 
An' riches still may fly them, O ; 

An' tho' at last they catch them fast, 
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them,0 
Green grow, &c. 



XHLEFLY SCOTTISH. 243 

But gie me a cannie hour at e'en, 

My arms about my dearie, O ; 
An' warty cares, an' warly men, 

May a' gae tapsalteerie, O ! 

Green grow , &c. 

For you sae douse, ye sneer at this, 
Ye're nought but senseless asses, O ; 

The wisest man the warl' e'er saw, 
He dearly lov'd the lasses, O. 

Green grow, U c.,' 

Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears 
Her noblest work she classes, O : 

Her 'prentice nan* she tried on man, 
An then she made the lasses, O. 
Green grow, &c. 



THE HIGHLAND LASSIE. 

Nae gentle dames, tho* e'er sae fair, 
Shall ever be my Muse's care ; 
Their titles a' are empty show ; 
Gie me my Highland lassie, O. 

CHORUS. 

Within the glen sae bushy, O, 
Aboon the plain sae rushy, O, 
I set me down wi* right good willt, 
To sing my Highland lassie, O. 
02 



2^4 POEMS, 

Ob, were yon hills and vailies mine, 
Yon palace and yon gardens fine ! 
The world then the love should know 
I bear my Highland Sassie, O. 
JVithin, &c. 

But fickle fortune frowns on me, 
And I maun cross the raging sea j 
But while my crimson currents flow 
I'll love my Highland lassie, G. 
Within, &c. 



Altho' thro' foreign climes I range, 
I know her heart will never change, 
For her bosom burns with honour's glow, 
My faithful Highland lassie, O. 
Within, &c. 

For her I'll dare the billows' roar, 
For her I'll trace a distant shore, 
That Indian wealth may lustre throw 
Around my Highland lassie, O. 
Within, &c. 

She has my heart, she has my hand, 
By sacred truth and honour's band ! 
Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low, 
I'm thine, my Highland lassie, 0. 

Farewell the glen sae bushy, O ! 
Farewell the 'plain sae rushy, O f 
To other lands 1 now must go, 
To svig my Highland lassie) O *», 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 

ANNA. 

Tune—" Banks of Bana. 

f estreen I had a pint o* wine, 
A place where body saw im ; 

Yestreen lay on this breast o' mine 
The raven locks of Anna. 

The hungry Jew, in wilderness, ' 
Rejoicing o'er his manna, 

Was naething to ray honey bliss 
Upon the lips of Anna. 

Ye monarchs take the east and west 
Frae Indus to Savannah, 

Brie me within my straining grasp, 
The melting form of Anna. 

Then I'll despise imperial charms, 

An Empress or Sultana; 
While dying raptures, in her arms, 

I give and take with Anna. 

Awa, thou flaunting god of day ! 

Awa, thou pale Diana ; 
Ilk star gae hide thy twinkling ray, 

When I'm to meet my Anna. 

Come in thy raven plumage Night ! 

Sun, moon, and stars, withdraw a'! 
ADd bring an angel pen to write 

JMy transports with my Anna! 



246 poems, 



THE SPINNING WHEEL, 



O leeee me on my spinning wheel, 
O leeze me on my rock and reel ; 
Frae tap to tae that cleeds me bien, 
And haps me fiel and warm at e'en I 
I'll set me down and sing and spin, 
W^ile laigh descends the simmer sun, 
Blest wi' content, and milk and meal— 
O leeze me on my spinning wheel. 

On ilka hand the burnies trot, 
And meet below my theekit cot ; 
The scented birk and hawthorn white 
Across the pool their arms unite, 
Alike to screen the birdie's nest, 
And little fishes caller rest : 
The sun blinks kindly in the biel* 
Where blithe I turn my spinning wheel. 

On lofty aiks the cushats wail, 
And echo cons the doolfV tale ; 
The lintwhites in the hazel bFaes, 
Delighted, rival ither'slays ; 
The craik amang the claver hay, 
The paitrick whirrin o'er the ley, 
The swallow jinkin round my shiel, 
Amuse me at my spinning wheel. 



V CHIEFLY~SCOTTISH.\ 247 

Wi* sma* to sell, and less to boy, 
Aboon distress, below envy, 
O wha wad leave this humble state, 
For a' the pride of a* the great ? 
Amid their flaring idle toys, 
Amid their cumbrous dinsome joys, 
Can they the peace and pleasure feel 
Of Bessy at her spinning wheel ? 



THE COUNTRY LASSIE. 

In simmer when the hay was mawn, 

And corn wavM green in ilka field, 
While claver blooms white o'er the lea, 

And roses blaw in ilka bield ; 
Blithe Bessie in the milking shiel, 

Says, I'll be wed, come o't what will; 
Out spak a dame in wrinkled eild, 

O guid advisement comes nae ill. 

Its ye hae wooers monie ane, 

And lassie, ye're but young ye ken ; 

Then wait a wee, and cannie wale, 
A routhie butt, a ronthie ben ; 

'There's Johnie o' the Buskie-glen, 
Fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre ; 

Tak this frae me, my bonie hen, 

y It's plenty beets the lu^er's rlre» 



248 poems, 

For Johnie o* the Buskie-glen } 

I dinna care a single flie ; 
He lo'es sae weel his craps and kye f 

He has nae hive to spare for me ; 
But blithe's the blink o* Kobie's e'e, 

And weel I wat he lo'es me dear ; 
Ae blink o' him I wad nae gie 

For Baskie-glen and a* his gear 

O thoughtless lassie, life's a faught; 

The canniest gate, the strife is sair; 
But ay fir* han't is fecktin best, 

A hungry care's an unco care : 
But some will spend, and some will spare, 

An* wilful folk maun hae their will ; 
Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair, 

Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill. 

O, gear will buy me rigs o' land, 

And gear will buy nie sheep and kye 
But the tender heart of leesome love, 

The gowd and siller carina buy ; 
We may be poor — Robie and I, 

Light is the burden luve lays on , 
Content and luve brings peace and joy, 

What mairhae queens upon a throne* 



CHIETLY SCOTTISH. 2 19 



TAM GLEN. 

My heart is a breaking, dear Tittie, 
Some counsel unto me come lea', 

To anger them a' is a pity : 

But what will I do wi' Tarn Glen ? 

I*m thinking, wi' sic a braw fellow, ' 
In poortith I might mak a fen' ; 

What care I in riches to wallow, 
If I mauna marry Tarn Glen ? 

There's Lowrie the laird o- Drumeller, 
" Guid day to you, brute/' he comes ben , 

He brags and he blaws o' his siller, r 
But when will he dance like Tarn Glen ? 

My minnie does constantly deaveme, 
And bids me beware o' young men ; 

They flatter, she says, to deceive me ; 
But wha can think sae o' Tarn Glen? 

My daddie savs, gin Til forsake him, 
He'll gie me guid hunder marks ten : 

But, if it's ordain'd I maun tak him, 
O wha will I get but Tarn Glenr 

Yestreen at the Valentine's dealing, 
My heart to my mou gied a sten ; 

For thrice I drew ane without failing, 
And thrice it was written, Tarn Gteci, 



250 £oems, 

The last Halloween I was waukin 
My droiikit sark-sleeve, as ye ken ; 

His likeness cam up the house stank in, 
And the very grey breeks o* Tarn Glen ! 

Some counsel, dear Tittie, don't tarry ; 

I'll gie you my bonie black hen, 
Gif ye will advise me to marry 

The lad I lo'e dearly, Tam Glen, 



I 



ANE-AND-TWENTY. 

' Tune—" The Moudiewort." 

CHORUS. 

An O,for ane-and-twenty, Tam! 

An hey, sweet ane-and-twenty, Tam I 
Til learn my kin a rattlln sang, 

An I saw ane-and-twenty, Tam, 

TheyshooI mesair, and haudme dowii, 
And gar me look like bluntie, Tam I 

But three short years will soon wheel roun*, 
And then comes ane-and-twenty, Tam. 
AnO,bc. 

A gleib o' Ian', a claut o' gear, 
Was left me by my auntie, Tam j 

At kith or kin I need na spier, 

An I saw an e-and- twenty, Tam. * - 

An O, &c. 



CHIEFLY- SCOTTISH, 251 

They'll hae me wed a wealthy coof, 
Tho* I mysel' hae plenty, Tam ; 

But hear'stthou, laddie, there's my Ioof, 
I'm thine at aue-and-tvventy, Tam. 
An O, &c. 



SOMEBODY. 



My heart is sair, I dare na tell, 

My heart is sair for somebody ; 
I could wake a winter night 
; For the sake o' somebody. 
Oh-hon ! for somebody ! 
Oh-hey ! for somebody ! 
I could range the world around, 
For the sake o* somebody. 

Ye powers that smile on virtuous !ovt t 

O, sweetly smile on somebody I • 
Frae ilka danger keep hkn free, 
" And send me safe my somebody 
Oh-hon ! for somebody ! 
Oh-hey ! for somebody f 
I wad do— what wad I not ?— • 
For the sake o' somebody 



1252 poems. 



O WHISTLE, &c. 






O whistle, and Vll come to you, my lad 
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad: 
T ho' father and mither and a! should gae mad, 
O whistle, and Til come to you, my lad. 

But warily tent, when ye come to court me, 
And come na unless the back-yett be a-jee ; 
Syne up the back-stile, and let nae-body see, 
Aud come as ye were na comin to me. 
And come, 6cc. 

O whistle, &c. 

At kirk, or at market, whene'er ye meet me, 
Gang by me as tho' that ye car'd na a flie : 
But steal me a blink o* your bonie black e'e, 
Yet look as ye were na lookin at me. 
Yet look, &c. 

O whistle, &c. 

Ay vow and protest that ye care na for me, 
Andwhyles ye may lightly my beauty a wee: 
But court na auither, tho' jokin ye be, 
For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me. 
For fear, &c. 

O wnistle, &c. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 253 



THE YOUNG LASSIE, 

What can a young lassie, what shall a young lassie 

What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man ? 
Bad luck on the pennie that tempted my minute 
' To sell her poor Jennie for siller an' Ian' ! 
Bad luck on thepermie, &c. 

He's always compleenin frae mornin to e'enin, 
He hosts and he hirples the weary day lang ; 

He's doylt and he's dozin, his bluid it is frozen, 
O, dreary's the night wi' a crazy auld man ! 

rie hums and he hankers, he frets and he cankers, 
I never can please him, do a' that I can ; 

He's peevish and jealous of a' the young fellows, 
O, dool on the day I met wi' an auld man ! 

My auld auntie Katie upon me takes pity, 
I'll do my endeavour to follow her plan ; 

I'll cross him, and wrack him, until I heart-break 
him, 
And then his auld brass will buy me a new pan. 



MY TOCHER'S THE JEWEL. 

O meikle thinks my hive o* my beauty, 
And meikle thinks my luve o' my kin ; 

But little thinks my luve I ken brawlie, 
My tocher's the jewel has c ;arms for him. 



254 FOEMS r 

* It's a* for the apple he'll nourish the tree, 
It's a' for the hiney he'll cherish the bee, 
My laddie's so meikle in luve wi' the siller, 
He canna hae luve to spare for me. 

Your proffer o' hive's an airl-penny, 
My tocher's the bargain ye wad buy ; 

But an ye be crafty, I am cunnin, 

Sae ■ wi' anither your fortune maun try. 

Ye're like to thetimmer o' yon rotten wood, 
Ye're like to the bark o' yon rotten tree, 

Ye'll slip frae me like a knotless thread, 
uAnd yc'li craok your credit wi' mae nor w+* 



THE MERCENARY LOVER. 
Tune—" Balinamona ora." 

Awa wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms, 
The slender bit beauty you grasp in your arms, 
O, gie me the lass that has acres o' charms, 
O, gie me the lass wi' the weel stockit farms. 

" CHORUS. 

Then hey for a lass \cV a tocher, then hey for a lass 

uV a tocher , 
Tken hey for a lass tri' a tocher ; the nue yellow gui" 

rieas for ?ne. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 255 

Your beauty's a flower, in the morning that blow*, 
And withers the faster, the faster it grows ; 
But the rapturous charm o' the bonie green knowes, 
Ilk spring they're new deckit wi' bonie white 
yowes. 

Then hey, &c. 

And e'en when this beauty your bosom has blest, 
The brightest o' beauty may cloy, when possest : 
But the sweet yellow darlings wi* Geordie 

imprest, 
The langer ye hae them — the mair they're carest. 
Then hey, fee 



MEG CV THE MILL. 



Air— ^ O bonie Lass, will you lie in a Barrack?", 

O ken ye what Meg o* the Mill has gotten ? 
An' ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten ? 
She has gotten a coof wi' a claut o' siller, i 

And broken the heart o' the barley Miller. 

The Miller was strappan, the Miller was ruddy 5 
A heart like a lord, and a hue like a lady : 
The laird was a widdiefu', bleerit knurl ; ~* 
She's left the guid fellow and taen the churl. 

The Miller he hecht her a heart leal and loving f 
The laird did address her wi' matter mair moving^ 
A fine pacing horse wi' a clear chained bridle,, 
A whip by her side, and & bonie side-*ad<ft« 4 



256 FOKMS 3 

() wae on the siller, it is sae prevailing ; 
And wae on the love that is fixed on a m alien 
A tocher's nae word in a true lover's parle, 
But, gie me my love, and a fig for the warl! 



AULD ROB MORRIS. 






There's auld Rob Morris that wans in yon glen 
He'sthekingo' guid fellows, and wale ofauidmen 
He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine, 
And ae bonie lassie, his darling and mine. 

She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May ; 
She's sweet as the ev'ning among the new hay, 
As blythe and as artless as the lambs on the lea, 
And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e. 

But oh i she's an heiress, auld Robin's a laird, 
And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and. 

yard; 
A wooer like me maunahopeto come speed, 
The wounds I most hide that will soon be my dead . 

The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane ; 
The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane : 
I wander my lane like a night-troubled ghaist, 
And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breasU 

O, had she but been of lower degree, 
I then might hae hop'd she wad smil'd upon me ! 
O, how past descriving had then been my bliss 
As now my distraction no words can express. 



CHIEFLf SCOTTISH, 257 

TO TIBBIE. 
Tune*— i( Invercald's Reel." 

CHORUS, 

Tibbie, I hae seen the day. 
Ye would nae been sae shy ; 

For laik o' gear ye lightly me, 
But, trowth, I care na by. 

Yestreen I met you on the moor, 
Ye spak na' but gaed by like stoure : 
Ye geek at me because I'm poor, 
But fient a hair care I. 

O Tibbie, &c. 

1 doubt na, lass, but ye may think, 
Because ye hae the name o' clink, i 
That ye can please me at a wink, 

Whene'er ye like to try. 
O Tibbie, &c. 

But sorrow tak him that's sae mean, 
Altho' his pouch o' coin were clean, 
Wha follows ony saucy quean 

That looks sae proud and high. 
O Tibbie, kc. K 

Altho' a lad were e'er sae smart, 
If that he want the yellow dirt, 
Ye'll cast your head anither airt, 
And answer him fu' dry. 
O Tibbie, &c. 
Vol. II. R 



2o8 POEMS, 

Rut if he hae the name o' gear, 
Te'Il fasten to him like a brier, 
Tho' hardly he, for sense or lear, 
Be better than the kve. 
O Tibbie, &c. 

But, Tibbie, lass, tak my advice, 
Your daddie's gear maks you sae nice ; 
The deil a ane wad spier your price 
Where ye as poor as I. 

O Tibbie, &c. 

There lives a lass in yonder park, 
I would nae gie her in her sark, 
For thee wi' a' thy thousand mark ; 
Ye needna look sae hisrh. 
O Tibbie, &c. 



DUNCAN GRAY. 



Duncan Gray came here to woo, 

Ha, ha, the wooing oV, 
On blythe yule night when we were fu* 
Ha, ha, the wooing o\ 
Maggie coost her head fu' \i\g\ 
Looked asklent and unco skeigh, 
Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh; 

Ha, ha, the wooing of. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH 259 

Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd; 

Ha, ha, 6c c. 
Meg was deaf as Ailsa craig, 

Ha, ha, &c» 
Duncan sigb/d baith out and in, 
Grat his een baith bleer't and blin\ 
Spak o' louping o'er a linn ; 

Ha, ha, &c. 

Time and chance are but a tide, 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Slighted love is sair to bide, 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Shall I, like a fool, quoth he, 
For a haughty hizzie die ? 
She may gae to — France for me ! 

Ha, ha, &c. 

Kow it comes let doctors tell, 

Ha, ha,&iC. 
Meg grew sick — as he grew heal, 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Something in her bosom wrings, 
For relief a sigh she brings ; 
And O, her een, they spak sic things! 

Ha, ha, &c. 

Duncan was a lad o' grace, - 

Ha, ha, &c 
Maggie's was a piteous case, 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Duncan could na be her death, 
Swelling pity smoor d his wrath , 
Now they're cronse and cantie baitbf 

Ha, ha, &c, 

R 2 



260 POEMS, 

THE BRAW WOOER. 

Tune—" The Lothian Lassie/ 



Last May a braw wooer came down theiang glen, 
And sair wi' his lore he did deave me : 

I said there was naething I hated like men, 
The deuce gae wi'm, to believe me, believe me, 
The deuce gae wi'm, to believe me. 

He spak o' the darts in my borne black e'en, 
And vow'd for my love he was dying ; 

I said he might die when he liked, for Jean, 
The Lord forgie me for lying, for lying, 
The Lord forgie me for lying. 

A weel-stocked mailen, himse! for the laird. 
And marriage ffff-hand, were his proffers ; 

I never loot on that I kenn'd it, or car'd, 

But thought I might hae waur offers, waur offers^ 
But thought I might hae waur offers. 

But what wad you think, in a fortnight or less, 
The deil take las taste to gae near her ! 

He up the lang loan to my black cousin Bess, 
Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear her, could 

bear her, 
Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear her, 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 261 

But a.' the niest week as I fretted wi' care^ 

I gaed to the tryste o' Dalgarnock, 
And wha but my fine, fickle lover was there, 

I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock, a warlock, 

I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock. 

But owre my left shonther I gae him a blink, 
Lest neebors might say I was saucy ; 

BIy wooer he caper'd as he'd been in drink, 
And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear lassie, 
And vow'd I was his dear lassie. 

I spier'd for my cousin fu' couthie and sweet, 
Gin she had recover'd her hearin, 

And how her new shoonfit her auldshackl't feet, 
But, heavens ! how he fell a-swearin, a-swearin , 
But, heavens ! how he fell a-swearin. 

He begg'd, for Gudesake ! I wad be his wife, 
Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow ; 

So e'en to preserve the poor body in fife, 

I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow, 
I think I maun wed him to-morrow 



262 



POEMS, 



WILLIE'S WIFE. 



Willie Wastle dwalton Tweed, 
The spot they ca'd it Linkumdoddie, 

Willie was a wabster guid, 

Con'd stown a clue wi' onie bodie ; 

He had a wife was dour and din, 
O tinkler Madgie was her mother ; 



CHORUS. 

Sie a wife as Willie had, 

I wad na gie a button for her. 

She has an e'e, she has but ane, 
The cat has twa the very colour; 

Five rusty teeth, forbye a stump, 

A clapper tongue wad cleave a railler • 

A whiskin beard about her mou, 

Her nose and chin they threaten ither ; 
Sic a wife, &c. 

She's bongh-houglvd, she's hein-shinn'd, 
Ae limpiu leg a hand-breed shorter ; 

She's twisted right, she's twisted left, 
To balance fair in ilKa quarter ; 

She has a hump upon her breast, 
The twin o' that upon her shouthex. 
Sic a wife, &c. 






CHIEFLY SCOTTISK. 263 

Auld baudraus by the ingle sits, 
An wi' her loof her face a washin ; 

But Willie's wife is uae sae trig, 

She dights her grunzie wi' a hnshiou * 

HeT walie nieveslike midden-creels, 
Her face wad fyle the Logan-water ; 
Sic a wife, 6c c. 



A PECK O' MAUT. 

O, Willie brew'd a peck o' maut 
And Rob and Allan cam to see ; 

Three blither hearts, that lee-lang night, 
Ye wad na find in Christendie. 

CHORUS. 

We are na fou, we're natfiat f&u, 
But just a drappie in mir ee ; 

Tiie cock may craw, the day may daw 
And ay we'll taste the barley bree. 

Here are we met, three merry boys, 
Three merry boys I trow are we ; 

And monie a night we've merry been. 
And monie mae we hope to be ! 
We are, 6c c. 

It is the moon, I ken her horn, 
That's blinkin in the lift sae hie ; 

Ske shines sae bright to wyle us name, 
But by my sooth she'll wait a wee * 
We are, &c. 



264 poems 

\Vha first shall rise to gang'awa*, 
A cuckold, coward loun is he ! 

Wha last beside his ciiair shall fa', 
He is the king amaug us three! 
IVc a/Y, &<;< 



THE LAWIN. 

Gane is the day and mirk's the night, 
But we'll ne'er stray for faute o light, 
For ale and brandy's stars and moon. 
And bluid-red wine's the rising sun. 

CHORUS. 

Then guidwife count the lawin, the lawin, iht 

lawin, 
Then guidwife count the lawin, and bring a 

coggie mab\ 

There's wealth and ease for gentlemen, 
And semple folk maun fecht and fen' ; 
But here we're a' in ae accord* 
For ilka man that's drunk's a lord. 
Then guidwife, &c. 

My coggie is a haly pool, 
That heals the wounds o' care and dool ; 
And pleasure is a wanton trout, 
An' ye drink it a' ye'll find him out. 
Then guidwife, &c» 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 265 



HONEST POVERTY. 



Is there, for honest poverty, 

That han^s his head, and a' that ; 
The coward-slave, we pass him by, 

We dare be poor for a' that ! 
For a' that, and a that, 

Our toils obscure, and a' that, 
The rank is but the guinea's stamp, 

The man's the gowd for a' that. 

What tho' on namely fare we dine, 

Wear hoddin grey, and a' that, 
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, 

A. man's a man for a* that ; 
For a' that, and a' that, 

Their tinsel show and a' that ; 
The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor, 

Is king o' men for a' that. 

Ye see yoa birkie, ca'd a lord, 

Wha struts, and stares, and a' that 5 
Tho' hundreds worship at his word, 

He's but a coof for a' that : 
For a' that, and a* that, 

His riband, star, and a' that, 
The man of independent mind. 

He looks and laughs at a' that. 



266 poems, 

A prince can mak a belted knight/ 

A marquis, duke, and a' that ; 
But an honest man's aboon his might, 

Guid faith he mauna fa' that ! 
For a* that, and a* that, 

Their dignities, and a' that, 
The pith o' sense, and pride o* worthy 

Are higher ranks than a' that. 

Then let us pray that come it may, 

As come it will for a' that, 
That sense and worth, o'er a' th* earth, 

May bear the gree, and a' that j; 
For a* that, and a' that, 

It's coming yet, for a' that, 
Tha^man to man the wand o*e* r 

Sitail brothers be for * lh*t« 






CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 267 

CONTENTMENT 

Tune — " Lumps o' Pudding." 

Contented wi' little, and cantie wi* mair, 
Whene'er I forgather wi f sorrow and care, 
I gie them a skelp, as they're creepin alang, 
Wi* a cog o' guid swats, and an auld Scottish sang 

I wfiyles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought ; 
But man is a sodger, and life is a faught : 
My mirth and guid humour are com in my pouck, 
And my Freedom's my lairdship nae monarch 
dare touch. 

A towinond o' trouble, should that be ray fa% 
A night o r good fellowship sowthers it a' : 
When at the blithe end o* our journey at last, 
Wha the deil ever thinks o* the road he has past ? 

Blind chance, let her snapper and stoyte on bei* 

way; 
"Be't to me, be't frae me, e'eolet the jade gae : 
Come ease, or come travail ; come pleasure, or 

pain, 
My warst word is— " Welcome, and welcome 

again P* 



268 poems, 



CALEDONIA. 

Tune— * Humours of Glen." 

Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands 
reckon, 
Where bright-beaming summers exalt the per* 
fume, 
Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green breckan, 
Wi" the burn stealing nuder the lang yellow 
broom. 

Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers, 
Where the blue bell and gowan lurk lowly un* 
seen : 

For there lightly tripping amang the wild flowers, 
A-listening the linnet, aft wanders my Jean. 

Tho' ricli is the breeze in their gay sunny valleys, 
And cauld Caledonia's blast on the wave : 

Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the 
proud palace, 
What are they r The haunt of the tyrant and slave. 

The slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbling foun- 
tains, 

The brave Caledonian views with disdain ; 
He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains, 

Save love s willing fetters, the chains o' his Jean. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH 26.9 

THE 

BATTLE OF SHEEIFF-MUIR, 



THE DUKE OP ARGYLE AND THE 
, EARL GF MAR. 

u O cam ye here the fight to shun. 
Or herd the sheep wi' me, man r 
Or were ye at the Sherra-muir, 

And did the battle see, man V* 
I saw the battle sair and tough, 
And reeking-red ran monie a sheugh, 
My heart, for fear, gae sough for sough, 
To hear the thuds, and see the cluds, 
O* clans frae woods, in tartan duds, 
Wha glaum'd at kingdoms three, man. 

The red-coat lads, wi' black cockades 

To meet them were na slaw man ; 
They rush'd and push'd, and blade outgush'd, 

And monie a.bouk did fa , man : 
The great Argyle led on his files, 
I wat they glanced twenty miles : 
They hack'd and hash'd, while broad-swords 

clash'd, 
And thro' they dash'd, and hew'd and smash'd, 
Till fey-men died awa, man. 



I 



270 POEMS, 

But had you seen the phillbegs, 

And skyrin tartan trews, man, 
When in the teeth they dar'd ourwhig^ 

And covenant true blues, man ; 
In lines extended lang and la:ge, 
When bayonets oppos'd the targe, 
And thousands hasten'd to the charge, 
Wi' Highland wrath they frae the sheatk 
Drew blades o' death, till, onto' breath, 

They fled like frighted doos, man : 
" O howdeil, Tarn, can that be true ? 

The chase gaed frae the north, man; 
I saw myself, they did pursue 

The horsemen back to Forth, man ; 
And at Dnmblane, in my ain sight, 
They took the brig wi' a' their might, 
And straught to Stirling wing'd their flight 
But cursed lot ! the gates were shut, 
And'monie a huntit poor red-coat, 

For fear amaist did swarf, man.'* 
My sister Kate cam up the gate, 

Wi' crowdie unto me, man ; 
She swore she saw some rebels run 

Frae Perth unto Dundee, man : 
Their left-hand general had nae skill, 
The Angus lads had nae good will 
That day their neebors' bluid to spill ; 
For fear by foes, that they should lose 
Their cogs o' brose ; all crying woes, 

And so it goes, you see, man. 
They ve iO*t some gallant gentlemen, 

Amang the Highland clans, man ; 
I fear my lord Fanmure is slain, 

Or fallen in whiggish hands, man 5 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH* 271 

Now wad ye sing this double fight, 
Some fell for wrang and some for right ; 
But monie bade the world guid-night ; 
Then ye may tell, how pell and mell, 
By red claymores, and muskets' knell, 
Wi' dying yell, the tories fell, 
And whigs to hell did flee, man. 



THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS 

April, 1795. 
Tune— (i Push about the Jorum." 

Does haughty Gaul invasion threat ? 

Then let the loons beware, Sir, 
There's wooden walls upon our seas 

And volunteers on shore. Sir. 
The Nith shall run to Corsineon*, 

And CrifTelt sink in Solway, 
Ere we permit a foreign foe 

On British ground to rally ! 

Fall de rail, &C 



• A Mgh hill at the source of the Nith, 

t A well- in own mountain at the mouth of the Sohray . 






272 POEMS, 

O let us not like snarling tykes 

In wrangling be divided ; 
Till slap come in an unco loun 

And \vi' a rnng decide it. 
Be Britain still to Britain true, 

Araang ourseU united ; 
For never but by British hands 

Maun British wrangs be righted. 
Fall de rail, &c. 

The kettle o' the kirk and state, 

Perhaps a elaut may fail in't ; 
But deil a foreign tinkler loun 

Shall ever ca' a nail in't. 
Our fathers' bluid the kettle bought, 

And wha wad dare to spoil it ; 
By Heaven the sacrilegious dog 

Shall fuel be to boil it. 

Fall de rail, &c. 

The wretch that wad a tyrant own, 

And the wretch his true-born brother, 
Who would set the mob aboon the thrvm, 

May they be d — mn'd together! 
Who will not sing, " Gnd save the King,* 

Shall hang as high's the steeple ; 
But while we sing, " God save the Kia/ ? 

We'll ne'er forget the People. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH 273 

THE WHISTLE, ' 
A BALLAB. 



As the authentic prose history of the Whistle is 
curious, I shall here give it. 

In the train of Anne of Denmark, when she came 
to Scotlaud with our James the Sixth, there came 
over also a Danish gentleman of gigantic stature, 
and great prowess, and a matchless champion of 
Bacchus. He had a little ebony Whistle, which, at 
the commencement of the orgies, he laid on the 
table, and whoever was last able to blow it, every 
body else being disabled by the potency of the 
botile, was to carry off the Whistle as a trophy of 
victory. The Dane produced credentials of his 
rictories, without a single defeat, at the courts of 
Copenhagen, Stockholm, Moscow, Warsaw, and se- 
veral of the petty courts in Germany ; and chal- 
lenged the Scots Bacchanalians to the alternative 
>f trying his prowess, or else of acknowledging 
heir inferiority. 

VOL. II. S 



274 POEMS, 

After many overthrows on the part of the Scots, 
the Dane was encountered by Sir Robert Lawrre, 
of Maxwelton, ancestor of the present worthy ba- 
ronet of that name ; who, after three days and 
three nights hard contest, left the Scandinavian un- 
der the table, 

Afi<! blew on the Whistle his requiem shrilL 

Sir Walter, son to Sir Robert before-mentioned, 
afterwards lost the Whistle to Walter Riddle, of 
Glen riddel, who had married a sister of Sir 
Walter's* 

On Friday, the 16th of October, 1790, at Friars 
Carse, the Whistle was once more contended for, 
as related in the ballad, by the present Sir Robert 
Lawrie, Of Maxwelton ; Robert Riddle, Esq. of 
Glen riddel, lineal descendant and representative ef ! 
WaltGr Riddel, who won the Whistle, and in whose 
family it had continued ; and Alexander Ferguson s 
Esq. of Craigdarrocli, likewise descended of the 
great Sir Robert ; which last gentleman carried 
off the hard-won honours of the field. 

I sing of a Whistle, a Whistle of worth, 
I sing of a Whistle, the pride of the North, 
Was brought to the court of our good Scottish King, 
And long with this Whistle all Scotland shall ring, j 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH 275 

Old Loda* still rueing the arm of Fingal, 
The god of the bottle sends down from his hall — 
•This Whistle's your challenge, to Scotland get o'er* 
And drink them to hell, Sir ! or ne'er see me more ! 

Old poets have sung, and old chronicles tell, 
What champions ventur'd, what champions fell ; 
The son of great Loda was conqueror still, 
And- blew on the Whistle his requiem shrill. 

Till Robert, the lord of the Cairn and the Sco?it 
Unmatched at the bottle, unconquer'd in war, 
He drank his poor god-ship as deep as the sea, 
No tide of the Baltic e'er drunker than he* 

Thus Robert, victorious, the trophy has gain'd ; 
Which now in his house has for ages remain'd ; 
Till three noble chieftains, and all of his blood, 
The jovial contest again have renew'd. 

Threejoyous good fellows, withhearts clear of flaw; 
Craigdarroch, so famous for wit, worth, and law j 
And trusty Glenriddel, so skill'd in old coins ; • 
And gallant Sir Robert, deep-read in old wines, 

Craisdarroch began, with a tongue smooth as oil, 
Desiring Glenrindel to yield up the spoil ; 
Or else lie would muster the heads of the clan, 
And once more, in claret, try which was the man. 



2j6 WORMS, 

" By the gods of the ancients !" Glenriddel replies, 
u Before I surrender so glorious a prize, 
FI1 conjure the ghost of the great Roger More*, 
And bumper his horn with him twenty times o'er.'* 

Sir Robert, a soldier, no speech would pretend, 
But he ne'er turn'd his back on hisfoe — or his friend, 
Said, toss down the Whistle, the prize of the field, 
And knee-deep in claret, he'd die, or he'd yield. 

To the board of Glenriddel our heroes repair, 

So noted for drowning of sorrow and care ; 

But for wine and for welcome not more known to 

fame, 
Than the sense, wit, and taste, of a sweet, lovely 

dame. 

A Bard was selected to witness the fray, 
And tell future ages the feats of the day ; 
A Bard who detested all sadness and spleen, 
And wish'd that Parnassus a vineyard had been. 

The dinner being over, the claret they ply, 
And every new cork is a new spring of joy ; 
In the hands of old friendship and kindred so set, 
And the bands grew the tighter the more they were 
wet. 

Gay pleasure ran riot as bumpers ran o'er : 
lBri"ht Phoebus ne'er witness'd so joyous a core. 
And vow'd that to leave them lie was quite forlorn 
Till Cynthia hinted he'd see tbem next morn. 



• See JcboscV* To«r to til EsLrirfcs. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 277 

Six bottles a-piece had well wore out the night, 
When gallant Sir Robert, to finish the fight, 
Turn'd o'er in one bumper a bottle of red, 
And swore 'twas the way that their ancestor did 

Then worthy Glenriddel, so cautious and sage, 
No longer the warfare, ungodly, would wage ; 
A high-ruling Elder to wallow in wine ! 
He left the foul business to folks less divine. 

The gallant Sir Robert fought hard to the end ; 
But wlio can with fate and quart-bumpers contend? 
Tho' fate said— a hero should perish in light ; 
So uprose bright Phcebus and down fell the knight. 

Next uprose our Bard, like a prophet in drink :— 
N Craigdarroek, thou'lt soar when creation shall 

sink ; 
But if thou would flourish immortal in rhyme, 
Come — one bottle more— and have at the sublime! 

• Thy line, that have struggled for freedom with 

Bruce, 
Shall heroes and patriots ever produce : 
So thine be the laurel, and mine be the bay ; 
The field thou hast won, by yon bright god of day J** 



2/8 POEMS, 



JOHN BARLEYCORN*, 
A BALLAD. 

There was three kings into the east, 
Three kings both great and high, 

An' they ha' sworn a solemn oath, 
John Barleycorn should die. 

They took a plough and plough'd him down, 

Put clods upon his head ; 
And they hae sworn a solemn oath 

John Barleycorn was dead. 

But the cheerful spring came kindly on. 

And show'rs began to fall ; 
John Barleycorn got up again, 

And sore surpris'd them all. 

The sultry suns of summer came, 

And he grew thick and strong, 
His head weel arm'd wi' pointed speais, 

That no one should him wrong. 



• Thfc H partly comp o tc d on tbc plan of ac old song known Dy U 
hum. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH 2/9 

The sober autumn enter'd mild, 

When he grew wan and pale ; 
His bending joints and drooping head 

Show'd he began to fail. 

His colour sickeu'd more and more, 

He faded into age, 
And then his enemies began 

To show their deadly rage. 

They've taen a weapon, long and sharp, 

And cut him by the knee ; 
Then tied him fast upon a cart, 

Like a rogue for forgerie. 

They laid him down upon his back, 

And cudgell'd him full sore ; 
They hung him up before the storm 

And turn'd him o'er and o'er. 

They filled up a darksome pit 

With water to the brim, 
They heaved in John Barleycorn, 

There let him sink or swim. 

They laid him out upon tne floor, 

To work him farther woe, 
And still assigns of life appear'd. 

They toss'd him to and fro. 

They wasted, o'er a scorching flame. 

The marrow of his bones ; 
But a miller us'd him worst of all, 

For he crusu'd him between two stones, 



280 POEMS, CHIEFLY SCO. . 

And they hae taen his very heart's bloody 
And drank it round and round : 

And still the more and more they drank, 
Their joy did more abound. 

John Barleycorn was a hero bold, 

Of noble enterprise, 
For if you do but taste hisT)lood, 

'Twill make your courage rise. 

Twill make a man forget his woe ; 

'Twill heighten all his joy : 
Twill make the widow's heart to sing, 

Tho' the tear were in her eye. 

Then let us toast John Barleycorn, 
Each man a glass in hand ; - %t ' 

And may his great posterity 
Ne'er fail in old Scotland ! 



I 



TKBS^D 



J Smith, Printer, 193, High Hoiborlu 



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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




014 389 726 6 



